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Hppletons’ 
Uown an& Country 
Xibrarg 

No. 270 


HESTER WYNNE 


By G. COLMORE. 
i2mo, paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

The Strange Story of Hester Wynne. 

Told by Herself. With a Prologue by 
G. COLMORE. 

After a long silence the talented author of “ A 
Daughter of Music” reappears before our public with a 
book which shows the development and strengthening 
of the impressive and dramatic qualities revealed in her 
earlier work. The undeniable power, assured grasp of 
motives, and maintenance of deep interest which charac- 
terize her new novel, will confirm the author’s hold upon 
readers of the fiction which has both quality and character. 

A Daughter of Music. 

“When an author presents us with characters the 
like of whom we have never met in fiction or in life before, 
he must convince us of their reality by sheer power and 
excellence of drawing or fail altogether. G. Colmore 
does not fail .” — Lotidon Chronicle, 

“ The descriptions seem almost like the direct repre- 
sentations of the stage, and the characters are clear cut 
and outlined with electric distinction.” — Ale-w York Out- 
look. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



THE STRANGE STORY 
OF HESTER WYNNE 

TOLD BY HERSELF 

WITH A PROLOGUE 


BY 

G. COLMORE 

AUTHOR OF A DAUGHTER OF MUSIC, ETC. 



“For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, 
and that which I was afraid of is come unto me” 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1899 



By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


All rights reserved. 


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CONTENTS 


0 

CHAPTER page 

Prologue .... . . . i 

I. — The beginning of the dread .... 8 

II. — Things which I did not tell . . . .18 

III. — I make the acquaintance of Jesse Pimpernel 24 

IV. — The door that moved 31 

V. — The properties of my eyes and other senses 35 

VI. — Jesse proves his friendship .... 42 

VII. — The figure in the moonlight .... 48 

VIII. — I GO TO Derbyshire 53 

IX. — I pause in my reading and open the door . 59 

X. — The groping hands 65 

XL — I fear an enemy, and find a friend . . 69 

XII. — I LOSE my temper AND BARRICADE MY DOOR . 76 

XIII. — I FALL ASLEEP 8$ 

XIV. — An evil dream 91 

XV. — The dread shadows me 96 

XVI. — The figure by the bed loi 

XVII. — I find an address 109 

XVIII. — I flee and am pursued 1 14 

XIX. — The end of the journey 119 

XX. — The dread comes back 127 

XXL— I TELL MY STORY -135 

XXII. — The iron box 139 

XXIII. — On the moor 146 

vii 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


Vlll 


A VISION 


CHAPTER 

XXIV.— The history of the jewels 

XXV. — I PLAY THE SPY 
XXVI.— Visions .... 

XXVII. — The man at the gate . 

XXVIII. — My mother’s will . 

XXIX. — Beta and I fall out and make it 

AGAIN 

XXX. — ^Jesse Pimpernel says good-bye . 

XXXI. — The parlour at the George Inn 
XXXII. — On the cliffs near Granbigh Hold 
XXXIII. — The patch of light on the lawn 
XXXIV. — I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW 
XXXV. — I MAKE A PROMISE . 

XXXVI. — I REMEMBER A FACE AND SEE 
XXXVII. — I ARRIVE AT GLAMARNIE. 

XXXVIH. — The tap on the window 
XXXIX. — Mrs. Pimpernel’s manoeuvres 
XL. — I WRITE letters 
XLI. — I GO TO CHURCH 
XLII. — The small bare room . 

XLIII. — The dread draws nearer 
XLIV. — I AM AFRAID 
XLV. — The terror by night . 

XLVI.— I MAKE plans . 

XLVH. — The cupboard with the glass door 
XLVIII. — Elizabeth Brabrook’s temptation 
XLIX. — Beta’s flight . 

L. — Alone with the dread 
LI. — The scream 
LH. — The carriage on the road 
LIII. — Conclusion 


UP 


PAGE 

152 

157 

163 

168 

172 

184 

188 

194 

199 

206 

2II 

217 

225 

229 

237 

244 

254 

260 

265 

268 

274 

278 

286 

292 

298 

306 

309 

316 

322 

329 




THE STRANGE STORY OF 
HESTER WYNNE. 


PROLOGUE. 

After a showery day the summer evening was 
both fair and still. Only a little languid breeze crept 
gently across the few bare fields and the moorland 
plain that lay around Granbigh Hold. Wide the 
plain was, but high, high up above the sea on the 
one hand, and the inland country on the other ; end- 
ing abruptly, where it met the beat of the waves, in 
rocky, storm-beaten cliffs; shelving gradually to- 
wards the valley, whefe trees clustered about the 
homesteads and the heather gave way to corn. The 
sky was of the pale sweet blue that follows rain, 
and the clouds held the rare, rich colours that are 
the evening prophecy of rain to come : the sun came 
in a long slant right across the moor, holding in 
its warm embrace the budding heather, the cold 
gray walls that shut in Granbigh Hold, the green 
of the shorn grass fields; and fell upon the upper 
windows of the house, wide, small-paned and low, 
making them to gleam and glisten in their setting 
of hard stone. It was said the Hold had been a 
fort once, and the thick walls that hedged it in gave 
credit to the saying. Strong and high they rose, 
straight up out of the heather, broken only by a 

I 


2 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


postern gate of thick, long-seasoned wood ; and the 
rare passers-by, seeing them from the distant road, 
said that the house must be a desolate place. But the 
desolation was all outside the walls, not within them. 
The gate opened on to a square of grass, green, 
smooth and trim, and all around it, hemmed in by 
a narrow flagged path, was a blaze of colour. Flow- 
ers grew in the wide border, with all the generous 
luxuriance that they give in payment for toil and 
care ; the beauty of them, coming from the wildness 
without, made the straight-lined garden seem like 
a magic space stolen from Paradise ; the fragrance 
of them filled the air. Close up to the gray walls 
they grew, finding no enemy, but a shelter, in the 
hard stone ; and close under the ’ windows of the 
house, making a gaiety that was silent indeed, but 
real and sweet. 

This evening the silence was broken ; not by 
any outside sound, for the garden was empty, and 
the dash of the waves against the rocks, that in stormy 
weather came with a boom right across the moor, 
was hushed to a murmur, powerless to travel so far ; 
but by sounds that came from within the house, and 
out through an open window into the still beauty 
of the evening. The sounds, whether by contrast 
or essentially, had something of horror in them : 
human they were, yet with the animal note which 
breaks through human utterance when the thing 
uttered is the spontaneous, uncontrolled expression 
of intense emotion or acute physical pain. 

Inside, in the room whence they came, the dusk 
was gathering, though a shaft of light, entering 
through the window, fell slantwise across the floor. 
There were five people in the room ; a woman, three 
men, and, in the far corner where the sunlight 


PROLOGUE. 


3 


reached, a little child. One of the men was lying 
on a narrow wooden bed that faced the window, and 
it was from him the sounds came ; moans of fear 
and suffering, cries that were half articulate, words 
blasphemous and obscene, unimaginable, unutter- 
able, save through the medium of a diseased brain. 
James Brabrook was dying of drink, and the drink 
madness was upon him, making the bed on which 
he lay, the room which prisoned him, the whole 
world, into a horror of crawling, loathsome life. The 
two men who tended him, his coachman and his 
gardener, stood, one on either side of the bed, watch- 
ful and ready, waiting for the paroxysms which im- 
pelled him to escape, somehow, anyhow, from the 
terror that pursued him. And all the time his wife 
stood by his pillow and ministered to him as best she 
might, and witnessed his degradation, and listened 
to the words he said ; and all the time, his little son 
stood silent and shrinking in the sunlit corner, afraid 
of that struggling figure on the bed, afraid of the 
strange, unusual atmosphere about him, afraid to 
move from the spot where his mother had placed him 
half-an-hour ago. After a while she turned and 
looked at him, and as his eyes met hers, the whip 
dropped from the little sun-browned hand that 
clasped it, and the child made a step forward. 

Fm frightened,” he said. 

The woman gave him a strange look, half com- 
passionate, half stern. 

“ I meant you to be frightened,” she answered. 

She turned to the bed again, but presently she 
looked round once more and held out her hand. 

'' Come here ! ” she commanded. 

The child hesitated: fear and protection lay in 
the same direction, and the sense of one was as strong 


4 THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

as the desire after the other : but the habit of obedi- 
ence was stronger than either, and he advanced 
slowly. His mother drew him close up to the bed- 
side. 

“ Look ! ” she said. 

The child tried to shrink away, but her hand was 
firm upon his shoulder. 

“ Do you remember,” she went on, “ how your 
father played with you on your birthday ? how gentle 
and merry he was ? how kind his face looked ? That 
is the same face ; that man lying there is the same 
father who carried you in his arms ; but all changed ” 
— her even voice took on an inflection of struggling, 
suppressed emotion — “ all changed.” She turned 
her eyes from the bed to the boy’s face. “ It’s drink 
does that,” she said slowly. “ Remember always, it’s 
drink does that. Now go back into your corner.” 

As the words left her lips, the man gave a violent 
leap that carried him half out of the bed, and his 
voice rang out in terror. 

His struggles broke the bonds that held him 
down, and with a bound he was across the room and 
half out of the window, overlooking the cool green 
peace of the garden and the wild beauty of the moor- 
land beyond. But the world as it was did not exist 
for James Brabrook ; he was in a hell of his own 
making, and he struggled after an impossible salva- 
tion — escape from himself. His wife’s lips tightened, 
as, for a moment, it seemed as though his strength 
would outweigh the strength of his guardians : she 
showed no other sign of emotion. Her small, strong 
hands helped the men to drag him back to the bed 
and fasten him down to it; and she did not flinch 
from her post at his side when his impotent agony 
found vent in a torrent of impurities. Only her face 


PROLOGUE. 


5 


grew a shade paler as his voice rang out through 
the room ; for, though she did not know the actual 
significance of the words he uttered, the intuitive 
recognition of evil which seems to be common to all 
mankind, creating an antagonism of pain in a pure 
nature, a sense of dim, attractive fellowship in a cor- 
rupt one, revealed to her their essential quality. And 
to Elizabeth Brabrook evil, in its grosser forms, was 
especially abhorrent; the sins of the flesh came not 
within the sphere of her sympathy; vice was to her 
a weakness as well as a degradation, and she despised 
it as much on the first account as on the second. Her 
face showed her to be a woman to whom virtue, in 
the commonly accepted sense of the term, was easy : 
not that it lacked beauty, for the face, with its 
straight, delicately cut features, was a beautiful face ; 
but in that it denoted a nature, balanced, passionless, 
strong with the strength of innate purity ; a purity, 
not that of gold which has passed through fire, but 
of a precious stone shining beyond the reach of 
flames. Temptation, that is to say, the combination 
of outward opportunity with inward desire, did not 
exist for her in its commoner forms, for the ten- 
dencies of her nature were all towards a rigid puri- 
tanism both of thought and conduct, and the sub- 
jection of will to sense roused in her only contempt. 
Yet towards her husband, outwardly at least, she 
had never failed. Her creed taught her that she 
was bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, that a 
woman should stand by the man she married, that 
a wife should be in subjection to her husband ; and 
through all the misery of her married life it had 
never occurred to her that she should leave him, 
should cease to bear with him, should relax her 
efforts to wean him from his evil ways. Now, as she 


6 THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


stood by his bedside, the love of the woman for the 
man she had married quite dead within her, the 
sense of the duty of a wife towards her husband’never 
faltered ; and stronger than any feeling of duty, hor- 
ror, disgust, was the desire to save a perishing soul. 

The paroxysm of frenzy was over now, and the 
man lay quiet, breathing heavily. Elizabeth Brabrook 
went down on her knees by the bedside and prayed 
in a low steady voice. “ O Lord,” she prayed, ” Who 
gavest the blood of Thy Son to cleanse the wicked- 
ness of men, pour that holy tide into the heart of 
the sinner — ” She paused and turned her head to- 
wards the boy, who stood with frightened eyes and 
drooping mouth still in his corner. 

“ Come here ! ” she said, “ come and pray with 
me for your father’s soul.” The child came, shrink- 
ing but obedient. “ Say the words after me,” she 
said, and began again the prayer she had paused in. 

“ blood of Thy Son,” the child faltered after 

her, “ holy tide into the heart of the sinner whom 

destruction awaiteth if Thy grace ” 

The two men in attendance had drawn back from 
the bed, and when the prayer began a second time 
they too knelt down. The sunshine had died out of 
the room now, and the stillness of the twilight had 
come : there was no sound save the low even voice 
and the heavy laboured breathing. Then the breath- 
ing stopped. Elizabeth Brabrook finished her prayer 
and rose to her feet. She looked at her husband’s 
face and turned to the man nearest to her. 

“ He’s quite quiet now,” she said, with a little 
catch in her breath. 

The man returned her gaze in silence, and in a 
sheepish way raised his hand to his forelock ; but his 
eyes answered her. 


PROLOGUE. 


7 


“ No, no,’’ she said quickly, “ he isn’t dead.” 
Then her lips, that had trembled, grew firm and 
straight again. “ Leave me,” she said. “ and take 
the child.” 

When she was left alone she stood quite still. 
The time for prayer had gone by ; “ as the tree falls, 
so shall it lie,” was her belief ; and no question of the 
justice of God stirred in her any thought or sense 
of rebellion. She stood by the bed and wondered 
how it was that, when the man’s soul had gone to 
hell, his dead face should look so calm. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 

I REMEMBER SO Well the evening it all began, all 
the strange happenings which shadowed the earlier 
part of my life and made the days sometimes ter- 
rible, often unreal, almost always difficult and 
strange. We were driving home from paying a dis- 
tant call, Mrs. Sullivan and I. It was late as re- 
garded the length of the day, for the twilight was 
nearly gone, and the chief light came from the moon ; 
but the evening was young by the clock, since the 
hour was not yet seven, and one felt, somehow, 
though the road was lonely and we met few pas- 
sengers on our way, that the world of men was still 
astir. The sea was still, and the great hills rose about 
the bay, calm and majestic as though they had a 
right to aspire to the sky ; and one felt, though of 
course one could not see, the vast stretches of moor- 
land bog lying beyond them ; and the pathetic soli- 
tude of Ireland’s waste spaces crept forth from the 
Connemara wilds and held the highway with its 
silence. For it was in Ireland that I was driving that 
night; in Ireland, the fairyland of my girlhood’s 
days, my world’s Eden, of which this country lying 
about Sunset Bay seemed to me the very garden. 
Desolate I have many a time heard it called ; but I 
loved the loneliness of it, which to me was never 
8 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 


9 


lonely ; I loved the blending colours on the bogland, 
I loved the peaty smell of the air, I loved the wild, 
rough winds that came straight from the Atlantic 
waves ; and I loved the kind and merry hearts that 
made it home to me. 

It was not really my home ; my real — no, real is 
not the right word ; ostensible is the fitting term to 
use — my ostensible home was with Mrs. Pimpernel 
in London. But Mrs. Sullivan had been a friend of 
my father’s, and all through my childhood’s and girl- 
hood’s days she had opened to me the circle of her 
happiness whenever Mrs. Pimpernel would let me 
come and enter it. It was not very often ; my periods 
of freedom were as rare as they were happy; for 
Mrs. Pimpernel did not approve of my Irish visits, 
and it took all Mrs. Sullivan’s powers of persuasion 
to open my London cage. Mrs. Pimpernel was my 
guardian, the friend of my mother’s youth, and left 
by her with absolute control — as I thought then- 
over my fate. I often used to wonder when I looked 
at my mother’s picture what the bond between them 
had been; for my mother’s face, judging from the 
portrait of it — I have no recollection of the reality — 
must have been infinitely sweet. Plaintive some- 
what, it looked, and with such gentle eyes, and hair 
that was very fair and soft; while Mrs. Pimpernel 
was sallow and stern and stout, a type of woman in- 
tensely antipathetic to me; though whether my an- 
tipathy to the type was born of my dislike of Mrs. 
Pimpernel, or my dislike of Mrs. Pimpernel sprang 
from innate intuitive antipathy, I cannot honestly 
say. Anyhow I liked her no more than she liked me. 
And she never liked me; I knew it and felt it with 
a child’s sure instinct the day I went into her house ; 
and though with her religion and her self-suppres- 


lO THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

sion and her strong will she forced herself to do 
what she felt to be her duty by me, the dislike was 
always there, and the day was to come when it would 
blaze out into hatred. 

But this is not the place in which to speak of 
Mrs. Pimpernel, and indeed I was not thinking of 
her at all as we drove through the chill mistiness of 
the October evening. The moon was up, as I have 
said, a little blurred by the thickening atmosphere, 
but the moon was the only light ; thin clouds lay over 
the heavens, and the stars were not strong enough 
to pierce their folds. As we drove, the silence and 
the gathering mist, which had held at first nothing 
but pleasant mystery, began to seem to me a little 
weird. Mrs. Sullivan was on the other side of the 
car, and I broke the stillness by a remark to the 
coachman, seated between us on the well. 

“ A fine night, Pat,” I said ; “ but there are no 
stars.” 

“ No, miss,” he answered me. “ Shure the cur- 
tains are drawn over the windows of heaven to- 
night.” 

The remark, characteristic of the Irish fancy 
which gives colour to the speech of her peasants, 
pleased me, for I was full of fancies myself in those 
days, and I sat silent again, musing upon it as we 
drove along. We sped down what I used to call the 
first hill, and then down the second, and now we 
touched the bay again, driving, for a quarter of a 
mile or so, close beside it. A low wall held the sea 
from the road ; the tide was in, and I could hear the 
gentle lapping of it through the rumble of the wheels 
and the clop of the horse’s hoofs. Suddenly the calm 
of the scene and the hush of the atmosphere became 
tense ; some strange thrill passed either through me 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 


II 


or my surroundings, or perhaps through both ; and 
all at once I was excited instead of dreamy, and my 
musing passed into watchfulness. For what? I 
could not in the very least tell, but all my life I 
have been subject to presentiments, and in that 
moment a wave of apprehension washed over me, 
and dying down again, yet left upon me a faint spray 
of fear. I remember noticing just then, with the sort 
of double consciousness which gives one at the same 
time cognisance of the outer and inner worlds, how 
the moonlight caught the water, making a path of 
troubled light, and noticing too that between me and 
the path, for one moment, a barrier arose, hiding the 
brightness. A man it was, walking in the same di- 
rection as that in which we were moving. I don’t 
know how, but somehow, without looking at him, 
without consciously observing or considering him, I 
seemed in some strange way to know he was not a 
native of the place. Soon after, the road wound to 
the left, away from the water, and turning for a last 
look of the sea, I caught again, plodding steadily on, 
a dark blot in the gray, the figure of the wayfarer. 

We were alongside the walls of the Sullivan land 
now, and soon came the sharp swing round the 
corner where, as a child, when I first learned to sit 
on an outside car, I had to cling to the seat to pre- 
vent myself being jerked off ; and then we were 
through the gates and up the climbing drive, and 
the lights of Shivdallagh were twinkling us a wel- 
come. 

Inside the hall all was brightness, and the boys 
(there were three of them at home, the fourth — or 
the first, rather, for he was the eldest — being far 
away in America at the time of which I write) came 
trooping out of the billiard-room to give us a wel- 


12 THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

come. They had been out spearing eels, and were 
lounging now, as their habit was, examining guns 
and fingering revolvers, till the moment when it was 
no longer possible to put off dressing for dinner. 
From seventeen to twenty their ages ran, and I, who 
was twenty-two at that time, and had known them 
for ten years back, had a sense of comradeship with 
them which made not a small part of the delights of 
Shivdallagh. Shivdallagh — or Shibthallagh, as the 
people about the place called it — is the Irish for 
beetle, and the house took its name from an island 
near at hand in the bay, which was supposed to be 
like a beetle in form. 

“ Are ye tired, ma’am ? ” asked Horace, taking , 
my cloak. They often called me ma’am, the boys ; 
why I don’t know. It was one of their forms of 
speech, which were various, and peculiar to them- 
selves, and were given forth with the strongest Irish 
accent, though they could speak — and did, when on 
their good behaviour — as pure English as the veri- 
est Sassenach. 

“ I am not,” I answered, with the Irish avoidance 
of the direct no and yes which always became natural 
to me after I had been two days in Ireland. Did 
you have good spearing ? ” 

“ Ay, we did, we slew them — the robbers ! ” 

“ It was grand ! ” said Dick, the youngest. 

Only my shins are in splinters with the rocks.” 

“ And it’s myself that’s in the same state, be- 
gorra,” said Ned, the sailor, home from his ship, and 
still girt about with the glamour of recent absence. 

All for the good of health,” said Horace. It was 
one of his favourite phrases, and was used frequently 
and indiscriminately in the course of his conversa- 
tion. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 


13 


“ You’ll go up in good time to get ready for din- 
ner, won’t you, boys? ” said Mrs. Sullivan, beginning 
to mount the stairs. 

“We will. Old One, we will,” came the answer 
in a chorus. Old One was their name for their 
mother, chosen, I suppose, because she was not old 
at all, nor in any sense ; and then they strolled back 
to the billiard-room, Horace’s turned up trousers 
showing spaces of bare legs above his socks. I went 
up to my room, and by-and-by, within a quarter of 
an hour of dinner-time, I heard a rush upon the stair- 
case, and a scuffling along passages, and fragments 
of conversation : “ Let go now, I say ! ” “ Bedad, but 

I’ll ” “Would ye now?” and then I knew that 

it was all right and that the boys were dressing for 
dinner. 

After dinner we all went into the billiard-room. 
Ned and the madman, as Horace was generally 
called, began a game of billiards, and the rest of us 
sat round the peat fire and talked or were silent as the 
mood took us ; not that silence ever lasted for more 
than half a minute when the boys were all together, 
but, just because their voices were never still, there 
was no need to talk unless one felt inclined to. 
There was a fire in the evening nearly all the year 
round at Shivdallagh, and it was always of peat, and 
it always blazed with a brilliantly persistent glow 
which seemed to me then, and seems to me now as 
I look back to it across the years, more intense and 
more cheerful than any sent forth by coal. A peat 
fire is often sulky at the start; you need to under- 
stand it — as indeed you need to understand all things 
Irish, let alone the people, before you can begin to 
deal with them — but if you do, and if you will coax 
it a bit, I know no fuel that throws out to you, in such 


14 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

ungrudging and generous wise, the very best, the 
very essence of itself. The pictures one sees in fires 
are clearer, I think, in fires of peat; perhaps the ro- 
mance of the mighty forests of past days still quivers 
in its fibres and leaps forth again, as the fire touches 
it, to a momentary life. Anyhow those Irish fires 
were apt to set me dreaming, and I dreamed that 
evening, I know, while the voices of the boys and 
their merriment fell upon and filled my outer ears. 
“ All the way, all the way,” I heard the madman say 
coaxingly to a ball of slackening speed. ‘‘ Ah, ye 
robber ! ” as the ball stopped. “ Boys a boys, what 
a stroke that would have been ! ” “ He’s got the 

spikey hump,” observed Ned, who, fresh from cruis- 
ing, employed sometimes a more cosmopolitan slang 
than that which was peculiar to Shivdallagh. “ Isn’t 
that watty now ? ” Horace said presently, as the ball 
fell gently into the left-hand centre pocket. ‘‘ Ye’re 
a schamer ” (schemer), observed Dick from his arm- 
chair. “ It was the cannon ye were after.” “ Cannon 
be blowed ! ” rejoined Horace with a show of indig- 
nation, and then, having made a horrible grimace, 
he reverted to his ordinary happy-go-lucky tone. 
“ All for the good of trade,” he said. And even as I 
listened and laughed, still I dreamed, my fancy grow- 
ing vivid in the fire. I dreamed of course of what 
my life was to bring to me, for the woman’s curiosity 
as to the future was strong in me, and I longed for 
the pages of my destiny to unfold. Lovers of course 
were in my dreams, and scenes of heroism and en- 
durance ; and there was to be one lover before and 
beyond the rest, and for him I was to do great deeds, 
to save him — I did not know from what. Some- 
how I could think of nothing more reckless or heroic 
just then than the defying of Mrs. Pimpernel, and 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 


15 

that hardly seemed grand enough, though to be 
sure 

“Well, his legs are thick enough,"’ Dick’s voice 
broke in upon my musing. 

Sure he s taken out his brains and strapped 
them on to his calves,” said Ned. 

“ For the good of health,” put in Horace. 

“ Boys, boys, what rubbish you talk ! ” cried Mrs. 
Sullivan. 

“ And would ye have us wise before our time. Old 
One ? Sure it’s good sinse to be foolish.” 

“ I’m going round to see the little mare,” Ned 
announced. “ Will ye come. Madman ? ” 

“ I will.” 

“ I’ll stay with the Old One,” said Dick. 

“ May I come ? ” I asked. 

“ Good, my rattler. Come along ! ” was the form 
in which my request was granted. 

“ Put on a cloak, Hester,” Mrs. Sullivan called 
after me. 

“ I will,” I returned ; and then presently we had 
crossed the large hall, and the small one leading to 
the side entry, and were out in the moonlight. The 
little mare was a young thing which Ned had bought 
at a ridiculously low price at a fair. He had a good 
eye for a horse, and she was well bred and gentle, 
and he had recently begun to break her in. We paid 
our visit to the stable, and saw that she was all right 
after the gallop he had given her; and then we 
strolled round to the west side of the house, the side 
which looked towards Croagh Patrick and the sea, 
and close to which was the fairy fort. The moonlight 
turned the mist to silver, and there was a strange still 
charm about the night that worked upon us all, I 
think, and made us linger ere we went indoors again. 


l6 the STRAI^GE story of HESTER WYNNE. 


Let us go into the fort/’ I said, “ and see if 
the fairies are about.” 

The fort, a raised mound, surrounded by a thick 
hedge and shaded by trees, was almost in shadow ; 
only, through one of the openings cut here and there 
in the hedge, the moonlight found its way, making 
a path across the darkness. Somehow the lighted 
space brought back to me the moonlit pathway on 
the water I had seen on the drive home : and, curi- 
ously, with the recalling of that picture, came again 
the sense of apprehension which had arisen with the 
actual vision. Again came the feeling of alertness, 
of watchfulness, and again I asked myself, for what. 
There could hardly have been a more peaceful night, 
so still it was and soundless; soundless at least 
till 

“ Boys,” I said, breaking the charm which had 
held us in a rare silence, “ why do the dogs bark ? ” 

“ For pure divilry,” answered Horace. 

No,” said Ned, “ they’re watty. There must be 
somebody about.” 

We waited, listening. There was no sound or 
movement in the autumn night ; only — in me, at 
least — a growing sense of some unseen presence, and 
the persistent barking of the dogs. Then — was it 
just the crackling of a twig? and did the shadows 
move? or — I grasped Ned’s hand with a quick catch- 
ing of the breath, and pointed. Outside the fort a 
shadow fell upon the moonlight on the lawn, and it 
seemed to me that for a moment, in the mass of 
bushes bordering the grass, there was a movement. 

“ What is it? ” Ned asked. 

“There’s somebody,” I answered in a whisper, 
“ there,” and again I pointed. 

“ Bedad, if there is I’ll have a crack at him,” said 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DREAD. 


17 

the madman, and in an instant he was knocking at 
the billiard-room windows, and in hardly more than 
a minute’s space, as it seemed to me, he was back 
again, a revolver in his hand, while Dick followed 
close behind, carrying the carbine. Ned went for- 
ward to meet him, and I, standing for a moment 
alone, became conscious of a rustling and of a 
stealthy footfall which crunched the gravel near at 
hand. 

“ Boys, boys ! ” I cried ; and “ Boys, what is it? ” 
called Mrs. Sullivan from the window. 

The answer was a yell from three strong throats, 
as, breaking from the shadow of the shrubs, out into 
the misty moonlight, dodging in and out amongst the 
bushes, followed by the five bullets of Horace’s re- 
volver and the report of Dick’s carbine, leaping, 
stooping, racing for dear life, sped the figure of a 
man. 


CHAPTER II. 


THINGS WHICH I DID NOT TELL. 

Nothing more of moment happened on that 
evening. The wicket gate in the wall at the bottom 
of the garden was open, and beyond lay the fields 
drenched in dew and curtained by the mist. Hither 
and thither went the boys, the hunter’s and the 
fighter’s instincts in them aroused and keen ; and 
close by the house I stood and watched and waited ; 
trembling, excited, afraid, and yet with some strange 
feeling that was partly curiosity and partly defiance 
of my own fear, giving me a sort of courage. Mrs. 
Sullivan had gone indoors to comfort and soothe the 
child upstairs, the only daughter of the house, who 
had been waked by the noise of the shooting; and 
so I was alone. I had got my own little revolver 
from the gun cupboard and loaded the five barrels 
of it. I was used to shooting at a target with the 
boys, and I remember, as I stood there, wondering if 
I could hit the man should the chance come to me. 
The man I called him, for in my mind he had a dis- 
tinct personality: he was the cause of the curious 
feeling which had come upon me during the drive 
that evening; he was one with the figure we had 
passed on the road ; he was in some way concerned 
with my affairs ; his purpose in coming to the west, 
in venturing to approach the house, had to do with 
me. That it was an evil purpose I never doubted; 

i8 


THINGS WHICH I DID NOT TELL. 


^9 

intuition, which had already warned me, now told 
me certainly that danger headed my path ; and as 
intuition had already in the course of my life told me 
many times the truth, I did not doubt her message. 
But what could the danger be? Ah, that I could 
not imagine. I had no wealth to incite to theft, no 
heritage to prompt murder. That Mrs. Pimpernel 
received half-yearly payments for my maintenance I 
knew, though whence they came I never could find 
out, as, on the one or two occasions on which I had 
ventured to ask for information, she had merely told 
me that the lawyers paid her the money, and had 
refused any further answer to my questions: but 
wherever it came from or in whatever sense it be- 
longed to me, I was convinced that I could not be 
wealthy. And as for my personal possessions — well, 
I had my clothes, the bracelet Mrs. Sullivan had 
given me when I was one-and-twenty, and my 
mother’s locket. Who could envy me? And who 
could desire to do me ill, apart from any gain result- 
ing from the ill-doing? These thoughts, and others 
such as these, flitted in incoherent wonderings across 
my brain as I stood there waiting, my revolver ready 
for use, my finger on the trigger, my heart beating 
at twice its usual speed, and my senses of sight and 
hearing keenly on the alert. I felt as if it would be 
almost a relief if that stealthy enemy of mine (for 
stealthiness was the quality with which somehow I 
especially credited him) were to come upon me face 
to face, so great was the tension of watchfulness and 
dread ; but, as I said before, nothing more of moment 
happened that evening, and when the boys came 
back, baffled in their search, I began to feel that my 
courage was a very slight thing, and that I would 
much rather sit down and cry than have the chance 


20 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

of shooting anybody. The boys were surprised to 
find me waiting there. 

“And is it yerself?” they asked. 

“ I had my revolver,” I answered, in a voice sadly 
out of keeping with the use of firearms. 

“ And would ye have used it, ma’am ? ” said Dick. 

“ Sure she would,” Horace answered for me ; 
“ she’d shoot for a bet.” 

We all went into the house. The fire was burn- 
ing brightly, and I was glad of the warmth, for I 
had not known till then how chilled I was. The boys 
began at once to talk, and their talk of course was all 
of the evening’s adventure, of the “ robber ” and the 
“ schamer ” and what they would have done if only 
the mist had cleared enough to let them have a crack 
at him. All sorts of conjectures as to who and what 
he was did they give forth, and many motives did 
they credit him with, from Fenianism to apple steal- 
ing; and all the time I sat drawn close up to the 
fire and said : “ It was me, me, me he wanted to 
harm.” But I said it only to myself, for it would 
seem ridiculous, I knew, to anybody else. 

At last, somehow, Mrs. Sullivan got us off to bed. 
It was a somewhat difficult task, for excitement was 
strong in all of us, and the talk poured forth in a 
stream which it seemed almost impossible to arrest. 
It was managed, however, in the end, and we trooped 
upstairs in a body, and I remember feeling especially 
glad that night that it was the established custom of 
the boys and their mother to see me to my room. 

“I wish,” I said, feeling more than half ashamed of 
myself, “ that one of you would look under the bed.” 

“ Why wouldn’t we ? ” they answered, and in a 
twinkling the three of them were on their hands and 
knees, peering behind the valances. 


THINGS WHICH I DID NOT TELL. 


21 


“ There’s neither man nor divil,” Dick an- 
nounced ; while his mother said to me : 

“ Are you nervous, Hester? Do you mind being 
alone ? ” 

“ Oh no, not at all,” I answered, afraid to own my 
fear. 

“ You know Ettie and I are not far away,” Mrs. 
Sullivan said ; and then came the good-nights ; Ned’s 
handshake, for Ned didn’t like kissing, the madman’s 
resounding smack, and Dick’s more sober salute ; 
and then they were all gone, the door was locked, and 
I was alone. 

Reader, do you know what it is to be born with 
a coward’s nerves, and to rebel with all your heart 
and soul against fear? If not, be thankful, even if you 
are all coward ; for it must be better, I am sure, less 
agitating at any rate, to be cowardly all through, 
than to be perpetually combating one’s cowardice. 
But I was made in halves throughout my nature, I 
think, and all my life I have suffered from the in- 
ternal conflict of the two sides of me. That night, 
when I was left alone, the reaction which had begun 
to set in when the boys joined me after my period 
of watching, came rapidly to a climax, and I was 
assailed by a rush of nervous terror which threatened 
paralysis of my will and self-control. Yet there 
was some instinct in me which defied and scorned 
my fear, and some innate force which impelled me to 
fight it; and so, struggling with myself, the braver 
part achieved at last the victory ; and when I had said 
my prayers and was ready to lie down in bed, I was 
tranquil enough to yield to extreme fatigue, and soon 
sleep came to shut me away from trouble. 

I awoke into darkness, the black darkness of 
night when the moon has set and the dawn has not 


22 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


yet begun. Uusally, in those days, my habit was to 
sleep on till morning, ignoring the passage of the 
black hours, and on the rare occasions when it hap- 
pened that my rest was broken, I was always uneasy 
when I awoke, for I hated the darkness. That night it 
was unusually dark, I thought, and I closed my eyes 
again at once, trying to woo sleep by an effort of 
the will. But sleep is a coquette, as all must know 
who have tried hard to win her, and flees from those 
who desire her most; and the more persistently I 
kept my eyelids closed, the more wakeful did I be- 
come. I thought how still it was compared with the 
nights in London, where complete silence is rare as 
jewels; and then, by-and-by, as I lay, I was aware 
that the stillness was not absolute ; some slight sound 
destroyed its completeness. Very slight the sound 
was, and only, I think, in the very dead of night 
could it have been distinguished, so careful were the 
feet that made it. For it was footfalls that I heard, 
footfalls soft, careful, intermittent; there would be a 
pause of two minutes, sometimes, between one and 
the next. I don’t know how long I lay there listen- 
ing to them, nor quite when I became aware that 
a faint lightening of the gloom showed itself in the 
window spaces; but there was a moment in which 
it became clear to me that the dawn had broken, 
and with that moment came courage and the power 
to act. I slipped out of bed, stole across the floor 
to a window, and — very cautiously — drew the blind 
just an inch aside. A dim gray light was creeping 
over the earth, and from the deeper darkness of the 
room I could distinguish faintly the outlines of the 
trees upon the lawn. The silence was complete just 
now; the sounds had ceased; and then presently 
came again the stealthy footfall, and, barely discerni- 


THINGS WHICH I DID NOT TELL. 


23 


ble in the meagre light, I saw the dark figure of a 
man steal across the drive and pause upon the grass 
beyond. It stood there from three to five minutes, 
perhaps, without stirring; and I, motionless also, 
watched it. Then, quite slowly, it moved across the 
lawn and disappeared in the darkness. I sat down on 
a chair near the window and began to think, and 
the result of my thinking was a resolution. I would 
tell nobody what I had seen that night ; I would not 
disturb the happy current of the life at Shivdallagh 
by the cross current of my individual fate. The ad- 
venture of the evening before would soon be for- 
gotten, the intrusion would be put down to a desire 
for stolen fruit, and I was very soon going back to 
England, and would take my desjtiny with me. For, 
reader, I never doubted that it was with me and my 
destiny that the events of the last nine hours were 
concerned ; the superstition, intuition, apprehensive- 
ness — call it what you will — that was born in me, told 
me so persistently ; and if you read to the end of my 
story you will see that, whatever it was, it was justi- 
fied by the event. I kept my resolution, I did not 
mention what had happened to me at the dawn ; and 
there was another circumstance which also I did not 
mention. It was this. 

In the morning, as I was dressing, I saw opposite 
my windows some small object on the grass, showing 
white against the green, and when I was ready for 
breakfast I went outside the house and crossed the 
lawn to see what it was. It was a half-sheet of note- 
paper, and on it was a rough sort of sketch, half 
picture, half plan, of Shivdallagh, with a cross in one 
corner of it, the corner where was the room in which 
I slept. 


CHAPTER III. 


I MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF JESSE PIMPERNEL. 

The only pleasant thing in coming back to Lon- 
don was seeing Beta again. Beta was Mrs. Pim- 
pernel’s younger child (she had only two), and was a 
couple of years older than I was. We had always 
been good friends ; I admired her very much, be- 
cause she was tall and had a fashionable air which I 
never could acquire ; and she was good-natured and 
had a fund of spirits which all her mother’s religious- 
ness had been unable to repress. She was waiting 
for me on the first landing, attired in her dressing- 
gown, for it was very early in the morning, and I 
remember how glad I was of her welcome and of 
the joy she showed at seeing me again. Her brother 
had come back from America, where he had gone 
many years before, while I was in Ireland, and I had 
thought that she might not care for my companion- 
ship so much now that she had his. 

“ I suppose you’re awfully pleased to have him 
back ? ” I said, when our first greetings were over. 

Beta twisted up her face in a queer, funny way 
she had ; then she stooped and whispered in my ear. 

I’m not so sure that I like him very much,” she 
said. 

“ Oh, Beta ! ” I exclaimed, a good deal shocked, 
for at that time I thought it almost immoral not to 
24 


I MEET JESSE PIMPERNEL. 


25 


like all relations, and I had always been very glad 
that there was no tie of blood between me and Mrs. 
Pimpernel. Beta and I had two little rooms side by 
side on the floor above her mother’s bedroom ; there 
was a door of communication between them, and 
very often we opened it and talked together while we 
were dressing. 

Mrs. Pimpernel was sitting at the head of the 
table with a large Bible open before her when I went 
downstairs. I kissed her as usual, on the forehead, 
and she said she hoped I was well ; and then I took 
my customary seat in the window beside Beta, and 
the servants marched in and prayers began. Morn- 
ing after morning have I sat on that same chair and 
watched Mrs. Pimperners broad back as she read out 
in her somewhat guttural voice words so familiar to 
me that they had ceased to bear any meaning. 
There came a day when my ears were opened, and 
when the Biblical phrases became to me full of wis- 
dom instead of being mere sequences of words which 
pleased — I do not know why — my musical sense ; but 
the day was not yet, and prayers made simply an 
occasion for the study — unconscious though it was — 
of Mrs. Pimpernel’s personality. At breakfast she 
inquired after Mrs. Sullivan’s health, and asked if 
I had finished the work for the Missionary Sewing 
League which I had taken with me to Ireland. I had 
not ; there was one flannel petticoat still untouched, 
and I was obliged to answer with a shamefaced nega- 
tive. Somehow in Ireland it had not seemed to mat- 
ter very much whether the heathen children had one 
petticoat more or less by October; but now, with 
Mrs. Pimpernel’s eyes upon me, it appeared all-im- 
portant, and I felt that I was a backslider of a low 
grade. 


3 


26 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

It will soon be done/' I said hurriedly. 

Is the band on ? ” asked my guardian. 

Truth and cowardice fought within me. I was 
tempted to answer merely, no ; but truth prevailed. 
“ It isn't begun," I gulped out. “ But," I added, 
crumbling my toast, “ I shan't be long over it. I can 
work very quickly." 

“ Then all I can say," observed Mrs. Pimpernel, 
“ is that if that is the case, you have hitherto hid your 
talent in a napkin." 

After breakfast I betook myself, accompanied by 
the flannel petticoat, to the little room at the back of 
the house which was given over to the use of Beta 
and myself ; the study, Mrs. Pimpernel called it, but 
we had named it the pigsty, so littered was it apt to 
beconie with tokens of our various employments. I 
began at once upon my task, with unwonted dili- 
gence, for I was not an enthusiastic worker; and 
presently, having got well into the herringboning, 
my fingers became capable of continuing their task 
independently of my mind, and my thoughts flew 
back to the friends I had left, to Mrs. Sullivan and 
the boys, and then to that strange night of adventure, 
which began to seem to me less alarming and im- 
portant in character now that I was back in the 
sober prosaic atmosphere of South Kensington. 
“ Imagination, a great deal of it," I thought ; “ and 
as for presentiments — well. I'm always fancying 
something. All rubbish ! " I repeated more than 
once, and even during the repetition a reminiscent 
sense of the strange apprehension which had pro- 
claimed itself that night in Ireland stole over me 
again. 

“ I'm a perfect fool ! " I exclaimed ; and indeed 
my nerves seemed curiously out of order, for the 


I MEET JESSE PIMPERNEL. 


27 

turning of the door-handle at that moment made me 
jump. 

“ Have I startled you ? ” asked a man’s voice. 

‘‘ Oh no ! ” I answered, in the foolish way in 
which one denies the obvious, “ not at all.” 

“ Have you forgotten me, little Hester?” 

I did not like him calling me little Hester — it 
savoured of impertinence, I thought; what business 
was it of his whether I was tall or short? But I an- 
swered without showing any annoyance : 

You’re Mr. Jesse, I suppose.” I would not be 
too familiar, at any rate. 

“ I am Jesse,” he replied. “ Have you forgotten 
me?” 

I remembered the boy Jesse, as I had seen him 
years ago, but the man Jesse I should not have 
known. 

“ You have altered since I saw you,” I said. “ I 
should not have recognised you if I had met you in 
the street.” 

“ Nor I you. And yet I don’t know. You have 
still the eyes.” 

I suppose I looked at him inquiringly, for he went 
on after a moment’s pause : “You have rather odd 
eyes, you know.” 

“ No, I don’t know,” I rejoined somewhat tartly. 
Odd was an adjective I did not care about, and again 
I thought him impertinent. 

He perceived my annoyance evidently, for he 
smiled, and, “ It’s a compliment, I assure you,” he 
said. 

“ I’m not fond of compliments,” I replied, with 
what I thought a good deal of dignity. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said humbly, and I 
began to think I liked him better. “ But it’s true all 


28 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

the same,” he remarked presently, “ that I have 
always remembered your eyes. They’re seeing eyes, 
you know.” 

“ I have never imagined myself to be blind,” I 
returned, with what I intended for sarcasm. 

0 reader, I was very young in those days, and 
the bloom of illusion still lay on the fruit of life ; and 
sometimes when I look back I think — but never 
mind, that’s neither here nor there ; but it was pleas- 
ant to think oneself a discerning person. 

“ How sharp your tongue is ! ” said Jesse, and 
that rather pleased me. “ I didn’t mean seeing in 
the ordinary way,” he went on. 

“ Indeed? ” I queried, as he paused. 

“ No, they’re the sort of eyes that might Do 

you ever have presentiments ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“ Oh yes ! ” I exclaimed ; and then, without 
knowing why, I checked myself. “ I have had,” I 
said carelessly, “ but I don’t believe in that sort of 
thing.” 

“ I should have thought you did.” 

“ Oh no ; it’s rubbish.” 

“ I dare say. Do you like being in Ireland? ” 

“ Oh, I do ! I always have a lovely time. The 
boys — but of course you don’t know the boys.” 

“ No. What are they like? ” 

“ Like ? Oh, I couldn’t tell you. They’re so 
funny, and so kind, and they can shoot and fish and 
row and spear and ride and — oh, everything.” 

“ They must be wonderfully clever.” 

1 looked up. Did I detect a note of irony in the 
• speaker’s voice? His face was quite grave, at any 
rate. 

“ I don’t know about clever,” I said ; “ I never 
thought about it. But they’re — oh, I don’t know; 


I MEET JESSE PIMPERNEL. 


29 

I could never describe it to you ; they’re just the 
boys.” 

“ It’s a pretty place, isn’t it? ” 

“ Oh, I should think so, indeed ! ” And then, 
started on such a congenial topic, I launched forth 
into an account of Shivdallagh and the life we lived 
there ; and I fancy Jesse Pimpernel knew a good deal 
about the place and the people by the time I had 
done. 

That afternoon there was the Dorcas meeting at 
Lady Blunderwell’s, and though I was beginning to 
feel tired by that time, after my night’s journey, of 
course I had to go. 

“ Hester looks sleepy,” said Beta at luncheon, 
tentatively, with the benevolent intention of suggest- 
ing to her mother that I might be excused from that 
day’s attendance. 

“ She must go to bed early,” replied Mrs. Pim- 
pernel. 

“ You should take a nap this afternoon,” said 
Jesse to me across the table. 

“ Hester goes to the Dorcas this afternoon,” Mrs. 
Pimpernel announced with decision, and nothing 
more was said on the subject. 

“ It’s the flannel petticoat,” I remarked to Beta, 
as we went upstairs to get ready. 

“ I suppose so,” she agreed. “ And the coffee’s 
always so beastly at Lady Blunderwell’s,” she added 
irrelevantly. 

Beta was very fond of coffee in the afternoon, and 
there was generally coffee as well as tea at the, Dorcas 
meetings, which made the one oasis, she used to say, 
in a wilderness of under garments; but at Lady 
Blunderwell’s it was weak, and she never could man- 
age more than one cup. I worked very hard that 


30 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


afternoon, simply because I was afraid I should go 
to sleep if I didn’t. The atmosphere was stuffy, and 
the conversation of a kind which bored me — scandal 
tempered with religion — and I was greatly relieved 
when the arrival of the tea and coffee afforded an 
opportunity for moving about and shaking myself 
into wakefulness. After tea Mr. Bakenham arrived, 
and gave an address on missionary work in South 
Africa, and after the address came a prayer, which 
brought the meeting to a conclusion. 

A curious thing happened on the way home. We 
passed a crowd congregated round a boy and a po- 
liceman. The boy had stolen a loaf, somebody said. 
I was sorry for him, though afraid to express my 
pity, knowing from experience that it would prob- 
ably be construed into sympathy with sin ; but I ven- 
tured to remark that he had most likely been very 
hungry. I expected a rebuke, and my guardian’s 
reply astonished me. “ The Lord knows we are all 
tempted,” she said. It was so unlike Mrs. Pimpernel. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DOOR THAT MOVED. 

After dinner that evening, Jesse came and sat 
down beside me and began to talk. He had assumed 
a half confidential manner, which I found both flat- 
tering and vexatious. Why should he be confiden- 
tial, I asked myself with some impatience, when our 
acquaintance was of the newest and slightest, for the 
little I had seen of him in my childish days, when he 
had been eighteen and I eight, I counted as nothing 
at all; and yet I felt the compliment in his attitude. 

“ What a curious chain you wear ! he said by- 
and-by. 

“Yes; it was my mother's,’' I answered. 

“ And mysterious,” he went on, “ One doesn't 
see the fastening.” 

I coloured, for the chain was rather a sore subject 
with me. “ There isn’t any fastening,” I said. 

“ No fastening? Then how But perhaps 

my questions are impertinent.” 

I felt that they were, a little, but I answered with 
affected indifference. “ Oh, no ! ” I said, “ but I 
should have thought you would have known about it. 
My mother had it fastened round my neck before 
she died, and my old nurse impressed upon me as a 
child that it was her wish it should never come off. 
So I suppose,” I ended up, with an attempt at a 

31 


32 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

laugh, “ that I shall wear it and the locket, as long 
as I live.” 

I was, truth to say, rather ashamed of my 
mother’s eccentric legacy, and the boys’ constant 
chaff on the subject had not tended to lessen my 
feeling in regard to it. “ She knew you’d pawn it, 
ma’am,” they used to say, “ if she didn’t make it 
secure,” and, ‘‘ Would ye go halves in the profits, if 
I was to file the links of it? ” Horace would ask. In 
the daytime it lay concealed under my dress, but in 
the evening, when my neck was bare, I could not 
hide it. The locket was made somewhat in the form 
of a padlock, the idea of which was carried out by a 
small aperture, which might have passed for a key- 
hole, on the back of it ; but I had never been able 
to examine it minutely, on account of the shortness of 
the chain, which made investigation possible only by 
means of a mirror. I had grown so used to wearing 
it, that days and sometimes weeks passed without my 
thinking of it at all ; but when my attention was 
called to it I was conscious always of a feeling of 
vexation and something like shame, of the presence 
of which I was, in its turn, ashamed. Yet nothing 
would have induced me to sever the chain ; it had 
become to me a sort of charm, and I had a fancy that 
to part with it would bring me ill-luck ; a fancy which 
I had dwelt upon till it had grown into a super- 
stition. 

“ It’s a charm, perhaps,” said Jesse, and his ex- 
pression of my own idea led me to disclaim it alto- 
gether. 

“ I told you this morning,” I said pettishly, “ that 
I don’t believe in rubbish of that kind.” 

“ She gave you your eyes too, I suppose? ” Jesse 
went on without heeding me. 


THE DOOR THAT MOVED. 


33 

“ You’re quite wrong,” I returned ; “ I get my 
eyes from my father.” 

At this point Mrs. Pimpernel interposed, and said 
that after my journey of the night before I had better 
be going up to bed. I was, in truth, very tired, and 
I went upstairs with the intention of getting into bed 
as quickly as possible. But there is a stage of fatigue 
when one shrinks from the labour of undressing and 
the many little observances of the nightly toilet, and 
the result of my longing to be in bed was that I 
dawdled frightfully over the process of getting there. 
I had come upstairs an hour sooner than usual, and 
I was still sitting, half undressed, before the toilet 
table, when I heard the well-known creak upon the 
stair which told me somebody was coming. 

“ Dear me ! and I meant to be in bed ever so long 
before Beta arrived,” I inwardly exclaimed, and be- 
gan to brush out my hair with a sudden access of 
energy. 

“ She thinks I’m sound asleep already, I sup- 
pose,” I thought, as the door into the next room 
remained closed. “ Just as well, for if we began to 
talk now, we should sit up half the night.” 

Beta was unusually quiet; she did not shut her 
door with the usual bang, nor did I hear her strutting 
about her room as her manner was. I was quiet too, 
for hair-brushing is not a noisy process, and, except 
for the little electric crackling evoked by the contact 
of the brush with my hair, I made absolutely no 
sound. I got to the plaiting stage, and was begin- 
ning to think that rest was near at last, when an 
odd thing happened. The dressing-table stood in the 
window, and the door into Beta’s room exactly faced 
it in the opposite wall, so that as I sat I could see 
the door reflected in the mirror. There was no sound 


34 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

of the turning of a handle, but, quite gently, slowly 
and noiselessly, the door opened. I could see it as 
I sat, and I watched it, quite motionless, hardly 
breathing even, with a sort of fascination. It moved, 
inch by inch, so slowly, that I wondered at first if 
my eyes deceived me, though beneath the question- 
ing surface of my mind I knew that they did not. 
Who or what was there? Oh, anything would be 
better than the pause, the waiting, the unseen pres- 
ence of that evil thing that moved the door and 
watched me. No, hardly that ; that was not possible 
— my mind worked with an odd clearness all the time 
behind the spell that held me — for the angle of the 
door would not permit the intruder to see me as I 
sat; it would need to be opened wider before the 
eyes could meet mine in the glass; the bed alone 
was visible through the narrow space between the 
doorpost and the door. I sat and listened and waited, 
and then, still very slowly, and softly, the opening 
diminished again; once more the door was shut. 
For a moment I wondered if I had been under a de- 
lusion, and the next moment I called myself a fool, 
and said that of course Beta had come up, and fear- 
ing to disturb me, had looked in with unaccustomed 
caution to see if I were awake. But if so — the 
thought followed rapidly — she must have seen that 
I was not yet in bed, must have seen the light. 

Suddenly I seized the candlestick and rushed into 
the other room. 

“ Beta ! ” I said, and then louder : “ Beta, Beta, 
where are you? You must be there.” But the room 
was empty. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE PROPERTIES OF MY EYES AND OTHER SENSES. 

From that night onward, the night of the open- 
ing door, it seemed to me that I was dogged by 
some unseen presence. Sometimes I thought it 
might be a supernatural agency — for I had a strong 
tendency towards what is termed superstition — 
which haunted me ; and sometimes a fellow creature, 
made of flesh and blood like myself. I was not 
always conscious of it, and indeed often days, and 
sometimes a week or even a fortnight would pass 
without any sign of its presence, and during those 
intervals I would tell myself that I was fanciful, un- 
healthily nervous, and absurd; but always when I 
had reasoned myself into composure, something 
would occur to upset me again, and to bring back 
the atmosphere of unreality and danger which was 
straining my nerves and strength. I never can quite 
describe the sensations of that time ; looking back, 
it seems to me that they must have been compounded 
of intuitive apprehension and ordinary reasonable 
fear; I say reasonable, because of the actual positive 
grounds I had for alarm. I spoke of what I suffered 
to nobody but Beta, and even to her not very often 
— only when things happened ; when I was merely 
apprehensive, when I merely felt evil about me, I 
kept my terrors to myself. Jesse was very tiresome, 
I thought, in those days. 


35 


36 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

And the seeing eyes,” he would often ask me, 
have they seen anything lately ? ” 

Did he divine, I wondered, that I was often afraid, 
that I fancied — for to fancy he would assuredly have 
put down my experiences — that I had cause for 
alarm ? I could not tell ; but sometimes, when some- 
thing had happened to upset me, he would harp on 
the subject of my second sight, till I wondered 
whether my face or my demeanour showed the dis- 
turbed condition of my nerves. 

I remember one morning, in particular, when his 
persistency roused me into a display of temper. I 
had not slept well the night before, and indeed my 
nights were often restless now; and I had seen for 
myself that my cheeks were pale, and that there were 
heavy marks beneath my eyes. Mrs. Pimpernel had 
remarked in the interval between prayers and break- 
fast that I was looking sallow, and advised me to 
take a liver pill. I knew I was not bilious, and had 
no intention of following her prescription ; but I 
knew also that I was not well, and I was overcome by 
an intense longing to get away from the gloomy Lon- 
don house, away from the nervous fears which beset 
me, away out into the open country, to rest and 
happiness and safety. I was at work upon a chemise 
for South Africa — the flannel petticoat had been 
finished long ago, and handed over to the steward- 
ship of Mr. Bakenham — when Jesse came lounging 
into the pigsty. He was very apt to find his way in 
there when I was working; sometimes I was, in a 
manner, glad of his company, sometimes it jarred 
upon me. This morning I did not at all want him, 
and I gave him no look or word of welcome. He 
sat down at a little distance ; I did not speak, 
nor did he, but I felt that he was watching me, 


THE PROPERTIES OF MY EYES. 


37 

and I was intensely conscious of my battered ap- 
pearance. 

“ Little Hester is gloomy,” he said at last. 

I strongly objected to his calling me little Hester; 
I thought the terms of our acquaintance were not 
sufficiently intimate to warrant it; but I determined 
not to state my objection for fear of furnishing him 
with an additional means of vexing me when he was 
in a teasing mood. 

“ Do you think so?” was all I answered. 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“ There is an obvious method of avoiding my 
gloom,” I said. 

Jesse laughed in what I called his fat way; I can 
find no other word to describe it. 

“ What a spitfire it is ! ” he said. 

I made no answer, and presently he spoke again 
in quite a different tone. “ Hester,” he said gravely, 
“ there’s something the matter with you. What is 
it?” 

“You’re quite wrong,” I replied; “there’s noth- 
ing more the matter with me than there is with you.” 

“ I don’t know that you’ve chosen a very good 
example,” he returned. “ But that’s neither here nor 
there. There is something the matter with you ; I’m 
sure of it. Won’t you tell me what it is? ” 

“ If you’re so sure about it, you ought to know,” 
I said. “ You know so much more about it, ap- 
parently, than I do.” 

“ Ah, you won’t trust me,” he said softly. Then, 
after a short pause, “ I do know, all the same 
though,” he went on. “ It’s those eyes of yours.” 

“ I am not aware of anything being wrong with 
my eyes,” I said, with a poor show of not under- 
standing his meaning. 


38 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

You know very well what I allude to,” he re^ 
joined. “ It’s those inner eyes, behind the outer 
ones. You’ve been seeing things, Hester, that have 
disturbed you.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. “ Very well, since you 
say so. I’ll agree to anything if it gives you any 
satisfaction.” 

“ And hearing. Come now, confess ! What did 
you hear last night ? ” 

Reader, indeed I had heard footsteps, footsteps 
that paused outside my door; and I had heard the 
door-handle gently turned. I had started up in bed 
then, and called : Who’s there ? ” and then all had 
been quiet again, and after a time I had heard the 
footsteps retreating softly down the stairs. For the 
last few weeks I had taken to locking myself in at 
night, but a day or two before something had gone 
wrong with the lock, and I had been unable since 
then to turn the key. I had asked Mrs. Pimpernel if 
I might have the lock mended, but she had replied 
that locking one’s door at night was an absurd fad, 
and that it was very much better for me to be unable 
to indulge in such a practice. So I was helpless, I 
felt, and my nights had been more broken in conse- 
quence. But how did Jesse know of my real or 
fancied experience? Anyhow I would not let him 
see that his shot had gone home. 

“ I heard most of the hours strike,” I answered, 
as coolly as I could. 

“ By Jove ! you’re a well plucked one ! ” he 
ejaculated. 

I looked up in surprise. 

“ You’re an awful coward, you know,” he went 
on, “ and yet you won’t own your fears.” 

'' This is quite ridiculous,” I burst out, '' and 


THE PROPERTIES OF MY EYES. 


39 

what your object can be in coming here and talking 
such nonsense to me, I can’t imagine.” 

He looked startled for a moment at my vehe- 
mence, and then he answered very gently. “ I want 
to help you,” he said, “ and you won’t let me.” 

I gave him no answer, and presently he went on 
speaking. “ I know your nerves are all out of order ; 
I can see how you start and change colour at any 
sudden sound; and I know — I am sure — that you 
have been fancying all sorts of things lately, that you 
hear and see things of a supernatural kind. I can 
always tell by your face when you have been troubled 
in that way.” 

“ You must observe very closely,” I remarked 
dryly. 

Because you are very dear to me,” he answered. 

His words, still more his manner, startled me; 
and when he rose from his chair and came towards 
me, my courage and my patience collapsed, and were 
replaced by a rush of temper. 

“ If I am dear to you,” I exclaimed, starting up, 
“ I wish to goodness you’d have the kindness and 
the decency to let me alone ! ” And before he could 
stop me I was out of the room, and rushing upstairs. 

Beta was in her bedroom when I burst into it. 
“ It’s too bad of you,” I said, “ to go and repeat my 
confidences to Jesse. I’ll never, never trust you 
again.” 

“ What confidences ? ” asked poor Beta, turning 
towards me very wide-open eyes. “ I don’t know 
what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, yes, you do!” I persisted. “You went 
and told him what I told you about last night, and 
you’ve often — you must have — you’ve often done it 
before.” 


40 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Fve done nothing of the kind,” retorted Beta in- 
dignantly, getting angry in her turn, “ and if you’re 
going to turn on me and accuse me of things I’ve 
never done, well, I don’t want your confidences. So 
there ! ” 

Then suddenly my heart melted. Beta was look- 
ing remarkably tall and fashionable in a new gray 
cloth gown, which, in spite of Mrs. Pimpernel’s or- 
ders, had emerged from the dressmaker’s hands, as 
indeed all Beta’s garments did, redolent of style ; but 
her round girlish face looked so perplexed and hurt, 
that I felt myself to be, in some odd way, an over- 
bearing bully, who was attacking something weaker 
than itself. 

Oh, Beta, Beta,” I said, “ I didn’t mean it ; I 
know you wouldn’t ; but I’m so miserable, and I 
couldn’t think how he knew.” 

“ Knew what ? ” asked Beta. 

“ About last night, that I heard ” 

“ But does he ? ” 

“ Yes, and he said I might as well confess, and I 
wouldn’t.” 

“ I’m not sure he isn’t right,” Beta said calmly. 

“ If vou do hear and see these things ” 

Oh, Beta!” 

“ If you do. I’m not at all sure you oughtn’t to say 
so. I’m sure you want a change, you know. And it 
might be the beginning of — of hallucinations, you 
know.” 

Her solemn face made me laugh, but, “ No, I will 
not tell Jesse anything about it,” I asserted vehe- 
mently. 

“ Well, just as you like,” Beta agreed. “ I shan’t 
say anything. And as for Jesse knowing — it’s just 
guessing, of course. Anybody could tell by the look 


THE PROPERTIES OF MY EYES. 


41 

of you, you’d had a bad night, or a nightmare, or 
something.” 

“ Do you think so? ” I went to the looking-glass 
and inspected my face. The result was not satis- 
factory. “ Oh, I wish I could get away ! ” I ex- 
claimed. 

“ I wish you could,” Beta agreed. She came over 
to me, and stooped down and kissed me. “ Poor 
little thing ! ” she said, and I felt no longer like a 
bully, but like some helpless thing which needed 
protection ; and, indeed, I think that a few stray tears 
fell down from those eyes which Jesse had made the 
subject of so much comment, on to Beta’s new gray 
gown. But Beta didn’t mind. 


4 


CHAPTER VI. 


JESSE PROVES HIS FRIENDSHIP. 

Jesse’s manner at lunch was deprecating, and I 
felt that he wanted an opportunity for making up our 
quarrel — though the quarrelling, to be sure, was all 
on my side ; but I would not give it to him. I stuck 
close to Beta as we left the dining-room, and all the 
afternoon I was out with Mrs. Pimpernel, or sitting 
with her in the drawing-room, still busy with the 
chemise. It was not till I went up to dress for dinner 
that Jesse was able to speak to me alone; then he 
waylaid me on the staircase, and stood a step above 
me with arms outstretched from wall to banisters, 
barring my passage. 

“ Hester,” he said, “ I’m so very sorry. I wanted 
so much to help you, and I only vexed you. Won’t 
you forgive me ? ” 

“ Oh, of course,” I answered, somewhat impa- 
tiently I fear, for I thought he was making a moun- 
tain out of a molehill. “ There’s no occasion to say 
anything more about it.” 

He did not move. “ You’re so hard,” he said. 

I don’t know what you mean by hard,” I re- 
torted. “ I said I was willing to forgive you if you 
think you need forgiveness, and there the matter 
ends.” 

“ You don’t really though,” he persisted. 

“ Don’t really what ? ” 

42 


JESSE PROVES HIS FRIENDSHIP. 


43 


“ Don’t really forgive me. I believe you half hate 
me, Hester.” 

“ I shall hate you altogether if you keep me 
standing here any longer,” I said. “ Why can’t you 
be sensible, instead of harping on about a thing that’s 
of no consequence?” 

“ It’s of consequence to me,” he answered. 

‘‘ Well, I’ve told you it’s all right. Please let me 
pass.” 

He paid no heed to my request. “ Will you give 
me a proof that it’s all right ? ” 

What proof ? ” I inquired warily. 

“ Ask me to do something for you, give me the 
privilege of being of some use.” 

“ But I don’t want anything. I wish to good- 
ness you’d let me pass.” 

“ You must want something. Come now, think, 
Hester ! ” 

“ Oh, well,” I said in desperation, “ ask your 
mother to let me go away for a change.” And then, 
ducking down, I suddenly made a dart under his 
right arm, and was past him, flying up the stairs, be- 
fore he realised that I had escaped. 

That evening, after dinner, Jesse drew his chair 
up close to his mother’s and talked with her for some 
time in a tone so low that Beta and I could not over- 
hear anything that was said. I saw Mrs. Pimpernel 
shake her head once or twice, and it seemed to me 
that he was persuading her to something- against her 
will ; but it did not occur to me that I was the sub- 
ject of the conversation till bedtime, when Jesse, 
detaining me a moment as the others passed out of 
the room, said, with an air of great satisfaction : 

“ It’s all right, little Hester. You are to go 
away.” 


44 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

It was such good news, and so unexpected, that 
my heart warmed towards him in genuine gratitude. 
“ Oh, did you really ask? ” I exclaimed. “ Oh, thank 
you, Jesse, good Jesse. Thank you again and again.” 
Then, rather to my relief, for he had hold of my hand 
all this time, I heard Mrs. Pimpernel calling to me, 
and I broke away. 

“ I wish to speak to you, Hester,” Mrs. Pimpernel 
said at the top of the stairs. “ Come into my room, 
please.” 

I followed her with pulses quickened, partly by 
joyful expectation and partly by the apprehension 
which the prospect of an interview with Mrs. Pim- 
pernel always excited. She sat down in her arm- 
chair by the fireplace, and I stood before her on the 
hearthrug. 

“ Jesse tells me that you have all sorts of fancies,” 
she said. 

I thought to myself that Jesse’s way of helping 
and serving me showed a singular lack of tact and 
consideration, and I felt angry that he should have 
spoken of what I particularly wanted to hide. 

The fancies are more his than mine,” I replied. 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Mrs. Pimpernel. 

“ He says that I fancy things. I never said so.” 

You as good as confessed to him that you 
heard, or imagined you heard, footsteps outside your 
door last night.” 

Now, as the reader knows, I had confessed noth- 
ing of the sort, and I said so, with more decision, I 
suppose, than was wise, for Mrs. Pimpernel drew her 
brows together in a way that I knew from long ex- 
perience meant stormy weather. 

” Then if you are quite well, if there is nothing 
in the world the matter with you, and your nerves 


JESSE PROVES HIS FRIENDSHIP. 


45 

are all that they ought to be, why do you want to go 
away ? ” she asked sharply. 

“ I am not well,” I answered. I don’t know 
what is the matter with me, but I am certainly not 
well ; and I think that if I were in the country for a 
time, away from ” I stopped abruptly. 

“Well? Away from what?” said Mrs. Pim- 
pernel. 

“ Away from this dreary, haunted house,” I had 
been about to say, but that would not do. “ Away 
from London,” I stammered, and I knew quite well 
that Mrs. Pimpernel was well aware that that was 
not what I had at first intended to say. 

“ Indeed ! ” She looked at me curiously. “ But 
it is not so long since you came back.” She was 
silent for perhaps half a minute, eyeing me all the 
while. “ Yet you don’t look well,” she said at last, 
“ you certainly don’t look well ; and I — I want to do 
my duty by you, to do what is best.” Suddenly her 
voice changed from the somewhat dreamy tone it 
had taken on to one that was sharp and almost de- 
fiant. “ I have always done that, haven’t I, Hes- 
ter?” 

I was taken aback by her manner, and I an- 
swered, senselessly enough no doubt : “ I suppose 
so.” 

“ You suppose? Is that all you have to say after 

all the years that I Well, never mind. You 

had better get to bed ; it’s past your usual time, and 
you shall go away as soon as I can find a suitable 
attendant.” 

Mrs. Pimpernel rose from her chair and stood be- 
fore me, looking at me with eyes which were full of 
scrutiny. 

“ You’re not a bit like her,” she said, “ like your 


46 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

mother ; you’re your father all over. Perhaps it’s 

just as well, and yet Good-night,” she ended 

abruptly, and turned away without offering me her 
forehead for the customary salute. 

I was glad to be dismissed, and I hastened out of 
the room and up the stairs to Beta, full of my news. 

“ I’m going. Beta, I’m going,” I said, throwing 
open the door which led from her room into mine. 

“ Going where ? ” inquired Beta, looking at me 
like a mildly astonished cow. 

“ Oh, I don’t know, but away, away from this 
horrid house and the terrors of it. Oh, I’m so re- 
lieved, so glad ! ” 

“ It’s very sudden,” remarked Beta ; then her 
eyes grew rounder. “ Did you ask mother ? ” she 
said in an awe-struck tone. 

“ Oh, no ! I should never have dared. It was 
Jesse.” 

“ Jesse? Well, after all, Hester, he ” 

“ Yes, I know,” I broke in, “ and if only he hadn’t 
said But I am grateful to him, really.” 

I went cheerfully to bed that night ; the prospect 
of change, of relief from the fears which haunted me, 
filled me with new hope and courage; and I began 
to think that Jesse was right after all, that it was 
my nerves which were at fault, that the sights and 
sounds which had disturbed me were due to nothing 
more substantial than fancy. But I could not sleep, 
not for many hours at any rate, after I had lain down 
to rest, and all sorts of inquiries set afloat in my brain 
kept it excited and restless. How had Jesse, in re- 
porting my experiences to his mother, managed to 
hit on the very thing which had actually happened? 
How had he known or guessed that I had heard, or 
imagined that I heard, footsteps outside my door on 


JESSE PROVES HIS FRIENDSHIP. 


47 


the previous night? The problem made me vaguely 
uneasy. Had he the seeing eyes, with the possession 
of which he credited myself? Was he really able to 
read my thoughts and perceive my fears? I could 
not bear to think so, and I tried to turn my thoughts 
to pleasanter subjects, to my projected outing and 
the relief and happiness it would bring me. But here 
again disquieting reflections broke in. Mrs. Pim- 
pernel had spoken of my going as soon as she could 
find a suitable attendant. Was I to go away alone 
with a maid, then? and a strange maid, moreover. 
The idea was distasteful to me; and yet, when I 
thought it over, I saw that it was almost the only 
feasible plan. In my longing to go away, I had not 
thought much of where I was to go to, and as I 
hardly ever paid visits, except to the Sullivans’, I 
had no friends whom I could ask to take me in. To 
be sure, there was my old nurse, married to a farmer, 
who would have been only too glad to have me for a 
lodger ; but I knew that Mrs. Pimpernel did not like 
her, and objected to any but the most distant in- 
tercourse between us ; and therefore, though the 
thought of a farm and Jenny’s kindly face filled me 
with longing, I put it on one side, knowing that my 
guardian would never entertain it. So I lay, think- 
ing and tossing, till at last sleep came to me, and 
life and its problems faded from my ken as I passed 
into the land of dreams. 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE FIGURE IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

The next day no further mention was made of 
my going away, but towards the end of the week 
Mrs. Pimpernel told me than the whole matter was 
arranged. She had heard of a farmhouse in Derby- 
shire where lodgings were to be had, and she had 
engaged a lady to be my companion and chaperon 
during the month I was to be away. A lady, a 
companion ; that was much better than a maid any- 
how, and since I could not have Beta with me — and 
both Beta and I knew that it was useless to suggest 
that she should go too — ^the arrangement seemed as 
good a one as I could expect. At any rate I was 
really going, and the prospect filled me with delight. 
I was a little what the Scotch call fey, I think, during 
the next few days, the days preceding my departure ; 
freedom seemed so sweet a thing, and as freedom did 
I picture to myself my sojourn in Derbyshire ; free- 
dom from nervous fancies, from the stern discipline 
of Mrs. Pimpernel, from the society of Jesse, from the 
confined uncanny atmosphere of the house in South 
Kensington. And Derbyshire ! It was a county I 
had never been in, but the very name brought visions 
of heather-covered hills, of free moorland, of remote- 
ness from London sights and sounds, of rest and 
peace and pure health-giving air. I counted the 
48 


THE FIGURE IN THE MOONLIGHT. 


49 


hours till my going, and it seemed to me that I had 
not known, till escape from my present surroundings 
became possible, how greatly I had longed for it. 
The last day had come ; the morning was past, then 
the afternoon, then at last the evening; and now it 
was bedtime, and only the night remained, for I was 
to start soon after breakfast on the morrow. The 
night would soon pass; I had been sleeping better 
lately, and did not dread the hours of darkness as I 
had done a short while since. Besides, to-night I was 
unusually sleepy; I had a touch of cold, and Jesse 
had prescribed hot brandy and water. Mrs. Pim- 
pernel did not usually approve of the taking of 
spirits, especially for young people ; but on this occa- 
sion, as I had a journey before me, she counselled, or 
rather commanded, me to follow her son’s advice ; 
and as I was not used to alcohol in any form, I felt 
particularly drowsy. 

“ Oh, Beta, I wish you were coming too ! ” I said, 
standing in my dressing-gown by Beta’s bedside. 

'‘I wish I were,” she answered, “except that ” 

She hesitated. 

“ Oh, Beta, is he back in London ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes, I saw him to-day when I was out driving 
with mother, and he may call any day, you see.” 

“ Then of course, of course you couldn’t go away. 
Oh, I do hope she’ll like him — won’t take a dislike 
to him at any rate.” 

“ I’m afraid he’s too nice for mother to approve 
of,” said Beta ruefully. “ You see, she likes such — 
such ” 

“ Such awful prigs,” I put in. “ And he isn’t a 
prig at all, of course, and very handsome. I’m sure, 
from the photograph. What a good-looking couple 
you will make ! ” 


50 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ It may never be,” said Beta, trying to be tragic, 
which was a thing she never could succeed in. 

“ Oh, yes it will,” I said confidently. “ You’re 
made for happiness, Beta,” and indeed she had al- 
ways given me the impression that life would go 
easily with her. 

I thought of her as I lay down in bed, and I 
wondered if there would be much difficulty in per- 
suading Mrs. Pimpernel to accept as her son-in-law 
the smart young officer, who was so different in ap- 
pearance from any of the men who visited at Regent’s 
Gate, and whose acquaintance the mother and daugh- 
ter had made at a friend’s house in the summer. He 
was well off, that was one advantage, for with Mrs. 
Pimpernel, I guessed instinctively, wealth would tell 
in his favour. I was immensely interested in Beta’s 
love affair, for I was romantic to my finger-tips, and 
Beta had acquired fresh importance in my eyes since 
I had heard the story of her courtship. There was 
no engagement, she said ; “ only an understanding, 
till we see how mother takes it ” ; but the term under- 
standing conveyed to me a delicious sense of mys- 
tery, far more entrancing than the prosaic definite- 
ness of a regular betrothal. 

So I went to sleep in an atmosphere of vicarious 
love-making, my own troubles and dreads, my own 
pleasant anticipations, even, far from my thoughts. 
How long I slept I know not: I only know that I 
woke suddenly, with an impression of having been 
startled out of sleep, and with the sense of some un- 
seen presence in the room. I lay quite still, for 
though the continued recurrence of uncanny sensa- 
tions and experiences had not added to my courage, 
it had in a sort of way accustomed my nerves to the 
encounter of strange happenings, enabling me to 


THE FIGURE IN THE MOONLIGHT. 


51 


control, if not to master, my fears. So I did not 
move ; I lay with half-closed eyes and waited. The 
minutes went on and on in complete and baffling 
silence ; it was the quietest time of the night, and the 
muffled hush, which is the nearest approach to still- 
ness that London ever knows, brooded over the city. 
Between the nearly-closed curtains a narrow shaft 
of moonlight found its way, making a dim silvery 
space amidst the darkness ; but there was no sign of 
dawn, and I knew that the comfort of the daylight 
was as yet far away. By-and-by my pulses went less 
quickly, and the tension on my nerves was relaxed. 
Nothing happened ; there was no sound or movement 
in the room ; and I grew to think that fancy had 
again deceived me. As the thought strengthened to 
conviction, the startled sense of alarm with which I 
had awakened gradually subsided : I suppose, too, 
that the effect of the hot drink I had taken was still 
potent, and bit by bit drowsiness dulled my con- 
sciousness and held my eyelids closed. I dozed off 
in fact, was almost, if not quite asleep, when once 
more I was startled into wakefulness. I can feel the 
horror of that waking now — the faint rustling sound, 
the tentative touch, the breathing close to my face. 
Something — somebody stood by my bed, bent over 
me, touched me as I lay. I sprang up, I gave one 
cry of terror ; then, with sudden desperate determina- 
tion, I leapt from the bed and made for the door. I 
stood before it. 

‘‘ Who are you ? ” I said ; “ you shall not go till 
you have told me.” 

I remember that my voice was hoarse, and that it 
hardly rose above a whisper ; but it reached, it must 
have reached, through all the room. There was no 
answer, but even as I spoke a figure glided across 


32 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

the patch of moonlight and disappeared again in the 
darkness ; I knew whither, by the sound of an open- 
ing door — the door into Beta’s room. I stood with- 
out moving, dumb and helpless, till presently came 
the sound of bare quick-pattering feet, and Beta’s 
voice spoke to me, startled and strained. 

Hester, did you call ? ” she said. Did you 
come into my room? I thought I heard a cry, and 
then that you came ” 

I had stolen back to bed with noiseless speed 
when first she began to speak. I was safe there now, 
and I broke in upon her questions. 

I had a dream,” I said, “ a sort of nightmare, 
and I dare say I called out. I’m all right now.” 

“ No ghosts?” she inquired with an anxious in- 
tonation. 

“ No, I’m all right,” I repeated, and then I heard 
her pattering back to bed. 

I did not sleep again that night. I lay awake and 
pondered, and it seemed to me that the mystery 
about my life was deeper and stranger than ever. 
Why, I asked myself again and again, should that 
particular presence haunt my hours of sleep? For, 
reader, as the figure crossed the moonlight, it had 
for one moment been real to my eyes ; and I thought 
I knew it. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


I GO TO DERBYSHIRE. 

Mrs. Pimpernel herself took me to St. Pancras, 
where my companion was to meet me. The first part 
of the drive took place in silence, but when we were 
about half-way down the Euston Road, Mrs. Pim- 
pernel addressed me in a tone of some severity. 

“ I hope, Hester,” she said, “ that by the time you 
return to us you will have got rid of these nervous 
fancies.” 

“ I hope so,” I replied meekly ; then the scene 
of the night rose up before me, and I repeated my 
words with desperate fervour : “ Oh, I hope so ! ” 

My guardian turned on me a momentary side 
glance. 

“ How did you sleep last night ? ” she asked. 

I hesitated, in doubt how to answer, whether to 
be truthful or prudent. 

“ Pretty well,” I faltered at last. 

“ That means, I suppose, that you had another 
experience ? ” 

There was an ironical emphasis on the last word, 
and the irony nettled me. 

I had,” I said boldly. 

“ May I ask,” continued Mrs. Pimpernel, “ what 
it was ? ” 

I was awakened,” I said, by someone standing 
by my bedside.” 


53 


54 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Indeed ! And then ? ” 

I did not answer. Prudence — intuitive, not rea- 
soned — asserted itself, and again I hesitated as to 
the nature of my reply. 

“ Well? ” asked Mrs. Pimpernel. 

“ Nothing,” I answered. “ I jumped out of bed, 
but I found nothing.” 

“ And saw nothing? ” 

“ It was quite dark.” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

With these words, my guardian, somewhat ab- 
ruptly, closed the conversation, and nothing more 
was said till we reached the station. 

As we alighted from the carriage, a woman's 
figure advanced towards us. Mrs. Pimpernel held 
out her black-gloved hand : it annoyed me, somehow, 
that her gloves were always of shiny kid, and never of 
Suede. 

“ How do you do? ” she said. “ You are in good 
time. Let me introduce you to your charge. Miss 
Wynne. Hester, this is Mrs. Loveday, and I hope 
you will not give her more trouble than you can 
help.” 

Now it was disconcerting to be presented in the 
light of a naughty child to a person in whose com- 
pany I was about to pass a month ; the unfairness of 
it provoked me to rebellion, and I answered in a 
manner which I meant to be casual, but which 
breathed more, I fear, of defiance : “ It depends of 
course upon how we get on.” 

I felt, before the words were well out of my 
mouth, that it was a rude speech ; but it was all Mrs. 
Pimpernel’s fault, I told myself ; and now this Mrs. — 
what was her name? — Loveday would be prejudiced 
against me from the very beginning, and prepared to 


I GO TO DERBYSHIRE. 


55 


take my guardian’s unflattering views of all that I 
did or suffered. Suffered ? No ! I should not suffer, 
at any rate while I was away — not, at least, in the 
way in which I had suffered lately; all that would 
be left behind in London, and no other suffering 
could try me in the same way. We were in the train 
now, comfortably settled, and Mrs. Pimpernel was 
standing at the door of the compartment, holding out 
a shiny black hand for the final farewell. 

“ Good-bye,” she said ; “ I hope ” 

“ Stand back, ma’am,” cried the guard, and the 
train began to move, and we glided out of the sta- 
tion, leaving my godmother and her half-finished 
sentence on the platform. I breathed a sigh of re- 
lief : already I tasted freedom in the air : mystery lay 
behind and health and security before me. If only 
I had not prejudiced my companion against me at 
the start ! 1 looked across at her. Should we be 

friends or not, I wanted to know. A middle-aged, 
somewhat tired, somewhat expressionless face con- 
fronted me. Staid Mrs. Loveday undoubtedly was; 
not unkindly, not too intelligent ; yet not unobservant 
either, for I felt as I turned to take her measure that 
she also had been taking stock of me. 

“ You don’t look over strong,” she remarked 
presently. 

I’m not, I suppose,” I answered, ‘‘ though I 
don’t often have things the matter with me.” 

She smiled slightly. Nervous prostration is quite 
enough to have the matter with one, I should say.” 

But I don’t have nervous prostration,” I said. 

“ Don’t you ? I understood ” 

“ At least,” I went on, without leaving her time 
to finish her sentence, “ I’m not the least pros- 
trate.” 


56 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

It occurred to me then that I didn’t really under- 
stand what she was talking about. 

“What is nervous prostration?” I asked. 

She hesitated. 

“ Well, it has to do with the nerves, you know. 
The nerves get out of order, and — and people fancy 
things, and ” 

“ I see,” I said. 

I saw several things : one was that Mrs. Loveday 
was not overburdened either with tact or discretion ; 
another was that I had been represented to her as 
being full of fancies — “ half an idiot,” as I expressed 
it to myself. Oh, well, it didn’t much matter, I re- 
flected, so long as she was good-natured, and that I 
was inclined to think she was. 

The train sped onward, out into the open country. 
My spirits rose : the streets of houses seemed to my 
imagination like arms which had imprisoned me; 
and now, rushing through the stretching fields, I 
felt that I was free. I began to enjoy everything ; the 
movement of the train, the sandwiches and cake pro- 
vided for luncheon, the scenery, the novelty of my 
circumstances, the pictures of our destination which 
fancy painted for me. 

At last we reached the little wayside station where 
we were to get out — Gullington it was called — and I 
remember the delicious feel and taste of the air as I 
drew it in in deep breaths immediately upon alight- 
ing. A ramshackly waggonette was in waiting for 
us, and we drove away with our luggage piled around 
us on the seats and floor of the vehicle. Reader, I 
shall never forget that drive. The November after- 
noon was drawing to its close ; mist came hand in 
hand with the darkness, shrouding the hills and val- 
leys and making even the near distances dim; and 


I GO TO DERBYSHIRE. 


57 


low in the sky a little feeble moon, gazing at us be- 
tween the heights, sent forth a silvery welcome. It 
was so still, so fresh, so peaceful ; and so mysterious 
withal ; not with the oppressive mystery that had 
strained my nerves in South Kensington, but with 
the sweet mysteriousness which is one of the many 
garments in Nature’s wardrobe, and which she 
chooses often for her eventide array. The road 
wound ever upward ; in the growing darkness the 
stars began to show themselves, and we seemed to 
rise towards them. By-and-by I saw that the hedges 
ceased, and away to the left the skyline met the earth 
on my own level. That dark undulating stretch must 
be moorland, surely. I spoke to the driver. 

“ Are we on a moor? ” 

He told me that we were, on a moor that extended 
miles and miles ; and my heart rose higher, for moor- 
land was as my native land to me. I don’t know 
whence I drew my love for it, for I was born in Lon- 
don, and had no childhood’s recollections to serve 
as its foundation. Perhaps it came from some far 
off ancestor, bred between heath and sky ; perhaps in 
some long past existence I had formed part of what 
now appealed to me with strange, persistent strength. 
Anyhow a moor was my ideal of the country, and to 
dwell near or upon one fulfilled my utmost desires 
after peace and freedom. We descended again a 
little, and paused before a creaking gate ; the driver 
held it open while we passed through, and let it swing 
on its hinges behind us. We alighted on a little 
gravel path, and, guided by a woman with a lantern, 
found ourselves presently in a low, fairly spacious 
room, with oak beams for ceiling, an old-fashioned 
open fireplace, and wide windows, covered now by 
curtains of deep red. I liked my new habitation ; I 
5 


58 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


liked the sombre cheerfulness of the dark wood, the 
brightly coloured curtains and the glow from the log 
fire ; and I turned to Mrs. Loveday and said : 

“ Don’t you think you will be happy here ? ” 

She smiled the little impassive smile I afterwards 
got to know very well, and said she hoped so. 

Upstairs our two bedrooms were side by side : 
each contained a four-poster bed, which left not too 
much space for the rest of the furniture ; but in one 
the window looked towards the valley, in the other 
across the moor. I learned this from our hostess, 
for it was now too dark to distinguish even the out- 
lines of the surrounding country ; and as Mrs. Love- 
day did not care which view her window gave her, 
I chose the room overlooking the moor for my own. 

I slept well that night in my big bed, soothed 
by the stillness and the pure strong air ; and I rose in 
the morning, full of energy, prepared to enjoy to the 
utmost each minute of the month before me. 


CHAPTER IX. 


I PAUSE IN MY READING AND OPEN THE DOOR. 

A WEEK passed by. I felt a different being from 
the nervous timorous creature, to whom night came 
in a garb of fear. My sleep was sound now, and 
sweet ; I ate the plain farmhouse fare with good appe- 
tite ; and never a day passed without my going for a 
long ramble across the moor, either alone, or ac- 
companied by Mrs. Loveday. At first she had ap- 
peared always to wish to go with me ; but as the 
days went by she relaxed the supervision which she 
at first exercised, and as she was not a very good 
walker, I more often than not, made my expeditions 
alone. We were very good friends, Mrs. Loveday 
and I. She was not a particularly interesting com- 
panion, but neither was she a disagreeable one, and 
our relations, though not intimate, were perfectly 
amicable. She gave me the impression of having 
had rather a hard life, and of being glad of a space 
of rest, and, thinking thus of her, I tried to do what 
I could to make the days pleasant and peaceful. I 
was reading at that time Mrs. Gaskell’s “ Life of 
Charlotte Bronte,’’ and, surrounded as I was by 
moorland, solitary as were my days, and limited as 
was my companionship, the lives of the sisters pre- 
sented themselves to my imagination with a strength 
of reality which made me feel as if I had lived or 

59 


6o the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

were living actually in their midst. I spoke about 
the book — I could not but speak of it, so prominent 
was it in my thoughts — to Mrs. Loveday ; and having 
aroused her interest by my enthusiasm, I volunteered 
to read aloud to her in the evenings, while she 
worked, the story of “ Jane Eyre,” a book she had 
never read. She seemed to have read very little, 
indeed, and now her time was passed chiefly in the 
manufacture of under-clothing. I asked her one day 
at the beginning of our sojourn in the farmhouse, 
whether she belonged to the Missionary Sewing 
League, but she said no, that she had no time to 
work for leagues, and that the garments she was 
making now were for her own use. She was pleased 
to be read to though, and I was delighted to see her 
interest and excitement grow each evening as the 
tale went on. 

We were sitting thus, I reading, she working, 
when the calm which had been mine during the last 
fortnight was again broken in upon. I was reading 
the scene in which Rochester, disguised as a gipsy, 
interviews Jane. 

“ I like to observe all the faces, and all the fig- 
ures,” I read aloud, and then suddenly I stopped. 

Mrs. Loveday looked up. “ What is the mat- 
ter ? ” she asked, in a quicker way than was her wont. 

“ Nothing,” I answered ; then I lowered my voice, 
and spoke in a whisper. There is someone at the 
door, listening, watching. I am sure of it.” 

She was about to speak again, but I stopped her 
with a gesture, and with an effort I continued my 
reading. With what an effort ! How hard it was to 
keep my voice steady, and the note of apprehension 
out of it! Apprehension! Yes, reader; the old 
strange sense that had come upon me first that even- 


I PAUSE IN MY READING. 6l 

ing as I drove along by the sea in Ireland, that had 
risen up again and again in London, precursing 
always some uncanny event, had stolen over me once 
again, here in the Derbyshire farmhouse, far away 
from the scenes where fear had dogged me, far away 
from anything which might suggest or recall my 
dreaded experiences, in surroundings where I felt 
myself free, and at a time when my nerves were re- 
covering tone and my body had regained its health. 
I read on for five minutes or so and then I stopped. 

“ I am tired,” I said. 

I rose and went across to the door, and flung it 
wide open. There was nobody, nothing there : only 
the wind, entering with a moan through a slit be- 
tween the outer door and its frame, stirred the hair 
upon my forehead. 

“ There is nobody,” I said, and my own voice 
sounded strange to me ; there was a sort of moan in 
it, like an echo of the sound in the wind. I know that 
as I stood there, the consciousness that the mystery 
and strangeness which haunted my life had followed 
me even here, was in my heart like pain, and I sup- 
pose the pain was in my utterance. Mrs. Loveday 
followed me. 

“ Miss Wynne,” she said soothingly, “ you should 
fight against these fancies.” 

“ Look ! ” I said, and I held the candle aloft. 

Don’t you see that the outer door is open ? ” 

She was startled for the moment, but : “ It may 
not have been properly closed,” she said, and then 
begged me to come back into the room. 

I was willing enough ; my enemy had gone, for 
the time at any rate, I knew ; the open door told me 
as much, and the passing away of that sense of dread 
which I had come to look upon as a danger signal. 


62 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

I sat down near the fire and looked into the flames. 
A great depression was upon me ; I felt lonely, dis- 
heartened and afraid. Mrs. Loveday watched me for 
a while in silence, but at last she addressed me, and 
almost in the same words that she had used pre- 
viously. 

“ Miss Wynne,” she said in her quiet voice, “ you 
should not give way to these fancies.” 

I raised my eyes and met hers. 

“ So you think it fancy — really ? ” I said. 

“ Of course. You have done perhaps too much 
to-day. That long walk in the teeth of the wind ” 

“ I have walked as far, and against a wind as 
strong,” I interrupted, “ many a day before this.” 

“ Yes, but perhaps I have not been wise in letting 
you run the risk of over fatigue. I have usually, 
with my patients ” 

Again I broke in upon her. “ Patients ? are you 
a nurse ? or what ? ” 

She coloured slightly. “ I was a nurse before I 
married.” 

An idea occurred to me. “ Are you a nurse no 
longer?” I asked. My eyes were upon her and she 
could not evade the question. 

“ Since my widowhood I have taken to it again.” 

“ It is as a nurse that you are here with me ? ” I 
continued. 

I knew that she was conscious of having made a 
slip, and in a way I was sorry for her — she looked so 
desperately uncomfortable ; but I was determined to 
have the truth. 

She hesitated, and then said: ‘‘Yes, in a sort of 
way. Mrs. Pimpernel told me that you were very 
much out of health and needed a great deal of care 
and looking after.” 


I PAUSE IN MY READING. 


63 


I thought a minute. “ Did she tell you I im- 
agined things which were not true ? that I had in fact, 
delusions ? '' 

Again Mrs. Loveday hesitated. 

“ You may just as well tell me the truth, I said. 

“ She hinted something of the kind.'’ 

“ She hinted in fact that I was not quite sane.” 

“ You put it too strongly, Miss Wynne. Not 
that, but that your nerves were out of order, and your 

mind in consequence a little — a little ” 

I see,” I said scornfully. “ It comes to the same 
thing.” 

I turned my eyes to the fire ; I had a great deal to 
think about, and my thoughts were more despondent 
than ever. By-and-by I turned again to my com- 
panion. 

“ I want you to tell me something,” I said. Can 
I trust you to speak the truth ? ” 

I did not dislike the glance she gave me; it was 
kindly, though I seemed to feel in it an element of 
professional observation. 

“ I would rather tell you the truth than false- 
hoods,” she replied. 

“ Then tell me,” I went on ; do I seem to you 
as if my mind were off its balance ? ” 

“ You do not,” she answered promptly, “ and 
until this evening ” 

“ Ah, this evening,” I said. “ You think my fear 
just now, my conduct altogether, unreasonable.” 

“ I saw no cause for fear,” she answered, “ and I 
cannot conceive who, in this remote spot, should 
either watch or wish to injure you.” 

Nor can I,” I returned, “ and I had hoped ” 

There I stopped, and indeed I could not have 
gone on without my voice breaking. Ah reader, I 


64 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


had hoped so much. I had hoped that here in Derby- 
shire I had escaped altogether from the perils of Lon- 
don ; I had hoped that my fears would prove them- 
selves to be really but the outcome of unstrung 
nerves ; I had hoped that I should be able to trace 
my past experiences to the influences of indigestion 
and nightmare. And now? Now they were all real 
to me again, and I said to myself : “ Is there no 
escape ? ” Presently I pulled myself together. If 
Mrs. Loveday was right, if Jesse and Mrs. Pimper- 
nel and Beta were all right, and my nerves and mind 
were the cause of my sufferings, the only way was 
to fight my fears, and I made up my mind that I 
would not be a coward and sink beneath them. It 
was early yet, and I proposed to Mrs. Loveday to go 
on with the reading; and I read arduously, nailing 
my thoughts and attention to the book, till it was ten 
o’clock, and the candles were brought in. The effort 
brought its reward ; by bedtime I had recovered my 
self-control, and when I parted from Mrs. Loveday 
at my bedroom door, I felt that I was once again 
mistress of myself. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE GROPING HANDS. 

There was a small fire burning in my room ; the 
nights were chilly, and I, who felt the cold, was glad 
of the crackling logs to undress by, as well as of the 
cheerful glow which they shed throughout the room. 
To-night, though, I was conscious of a current of 
cold air. Whence did it come ? The curtains swayed 
slightly. I went over to the window and drew them 
apart, and then I saw that the casement was un- 
fastened. I pushed it wider open and looked out. 
The night was gloomy ; banks of cloud hid the moon, 
and a low wind wandered over the moor with a 
note of desolation as though it longed for shelter. 
I stood looking into the unquiet darkness. The 
subtle moods of nature and the night have always 
had a strange attraction for me ; when the ordinary 
world is stilled or shut away, as in solitude or dark- 
ness, it is as if a voice out of the eternal heart of 
things uttered itself in wordless speech to mine ; it 
is as if the barriers that limit consciousness were 
lowered and I were at one with the universal life. 
On gray, sad days or when the sunlight has been 
glad in solitary places, when twilight or moonlight 
or the dawn has found me alone, then this sense 
of mystical intercourse has often come to me, and 
I have seemed to feel the spirit of nature and to 

65 


66 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

enter into its being. So it was to-night. The wind 
told me of the long ages through which it had 
roamed the earth ; the darkness told me of the 
mournfulness it held, and the rest; and from the 
moor which I could not see, there rose up emanations 
of patience and of strength. Just outside the window 
a cherry tree waved its branches close to my face, 
and the thought came to me how easy it would be to 
clamber into it from the sill : if a bright day came, 
I resolved, I would spend a portion of it there. How 
long I stood looking out, I know not ; but at last I 
drew back into the room, fastened the casement and 
began to undress ; unwillingly, for I knew that when 
I withdrew from the scene outside, the horror would 
be waiting for me. I had felt it the instant I had 
closed my door ; it lurked somewhere in the room ; 
its influence was upon me. I fought against it, des- 
perately, determinedly, foolishly ; yes, foolishly, for I 
know now that the thing I sought to stifle, was an 
added sense, marvellously given to deliver me from 
evil. I fought against it with powerful arguments, 
bringiiig reason with all her forces into a province 
which was not hers ; and, in the end, I conquered. 
The human mind, I suppose, can always conquer 
fear, if determination be strong enough ; but it is 
wiser, believe me, to bring about its destruction only 
when its cause is definite and obvious ; when fear 
comes unheralded and without excuse, it were well 
to heed its message. 

I drew the fire together before I got into bed ; 
blue, sportive flames leaped about the logs, and lent 
me courage as I lay ; and with the strong air of the 
moor to weight my eyelids and the fatigue of my 
long ramble paving the way for rest, I fell asleep 
while yet the firelight held the darkness at bay. I 


THE GROPING HANDS. 


67 

was used to dreaming, but mostly of fleeting, dimly 
presented scenes which left little trace upon my con- 
sciousness. It was not often that my dream experi- 
ences were defined and clear, but to-night I had a 
dream which was startlingly vivid. I dreamed that 
I was about to be hanged. I stood beneath a gal- 
lows ; all around me were crowds of people, antago- 
nistic, clamouring for my death. The hangman stood 
before me ; already the rope was about my neck ; I 
knew that in a minute it would be drawn tight, and 
I should be swinging in mid air: but as yet the 
pressure of it was but slight; I could just feel it 
about my throat, and the touch of the hangman’s 
hands as he adjusted the knot. Those hands pressed 
down, wandered from windpipe to chest ; the sus- 
pense was intolerable and I raised my own hands in 
an effort to free myself. Suddenly the crowd disap- 
peared ; everything was in darkness ; I saw nothing, 
not even the hangman’s face ; only I still struggled 
to free myself from his grasp. And then the horror 
of my dream gave way to a greater horror ; for I was 
awake, lying in my bed ; there were real strong hands 
at my throat, groping, groping. Whether I had 
moved in my sleep I know not, but now I struggled 
impulsively, making an effort to spring up in the 
bed. 

Lie still ! ” a voice said, whispering but distinct. 

Reader, for perhaps a quarter of a minute I lay 
still, while those damp hands busied themselves 
about my throat, and then the horror, the storm of 
revolt that possessed me found vent in one wild 
scream. There was a moment’s pause, then the fling- 
ing open of a door and hurrying feet in the passage 
outside. The hands left my throat; the curtains of 
the window were torn apart, and somebody, some- 


68 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


thing, wrestled with the hasp of the casement. As 
my own door was burst open, the candle in Mrs. Love- 
day’s hand was blown out by the draught from the 
window, and I, sitting upright in my bed, and she, 
standing on the threshold, saw only by the scanty 
light of the half veiled moon, a figure that for an in- 
stant blocked the casement’s space and disappeared 
into the night. 

“ Who is it ? ” asked Mrs. Loveday, groping in 
the darkness. 

“ A light — get a light ! ” I cried. 

She found the matches and struck one. 

“ Did you see ?” 1 asked. “ Mrs. Loveday, did 
you see ? ” 

Her eyes answered me. 

“ Was it my fancy? ” I said, “ or was it real? ” 

“ It was real,” she whispered. 

I rocked myself to and fro, moaning. Real,” I 
said, “ all real,” and the certainty of reality came upon 
me as an agony ; for what, I thought, can be the 
meaning and end of it all? 

Mrs. Loveday was as much upset as 1. 

“ Who is it?” she asked. “ Have you any idea, 
any theory, who or what it can be ? ” 

“ No, no,” I said, “ I don’t know, I don’t know, I 
don’t know.” 

I repeated my words again and again, speaking 
rather to myself than to her, assuring myself of my 
own ignorance, or seeking rather such assurance ; for, 
reader, the figure that had paused for a moment, 
dimly visible in the moonlight, bore an aspect that 
had seemed familiar; but I would not, I zvoiild not 
own that such a thing could be. 


CHAPTER XL 


I FEAR AN ENEMY AND FIND A FRIEND. 

The next morning we did not stir out of the 
house. Mrs. Loveday was full of sympathy, anxious, 
compassionate, alarmed ; and I told her — and oh how 
glad I was to speak freely of my troubles and my 
dread — all the strange things that for the last two 
months had befallen me. I kept from her only my 
suspicions as to the identity of the figures I had 
seen; for how could I put into words that which I 
dared not admit even to myself? One little strain 
of satisfaction ran through my unhappiness, that I 
had proved myself to be reasonable in my fears ; yet 
the satisfaction was dearly bought, for hitherto I had 
been able to persuade myself — at times at any rate — 
that fancy was my chief tormentor, whereas now I 
had no ground of refuge left. Foreboding pressed 
hard upon me, and that chilling sense of mystery 
struck me with a cold dismay. I knew not what I 
had to fear, nor how to cope with the danger that cer- 
tainly yet so unaccountably threatened me, and I had 
no friend I could confide in and upon whose strength 
I could rely. 

“ Could you not tell all this to Mrs. Pimpernel ? 
Mrs. Loveday suggested. 

I answered her with a laugh, “ Mrs. Pimpernel ! ” 

“ Or, has she not a son? she went on ; and my 
laugh became a shudder. 

69 


70 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

After our early dinner I proposed a walk. Mrs. 
Loveday hesitated. The adventure of the night had 
made her timid, and it was I who had now to take 
the initiative, it was I who had to play the part of 
protector. She consented at last to accompany me, 
and we set out. We forsook the moor to-day and 
struck down towards the valley, where the autumn 
seemed more advanced, or was only more noticeable, 
perhaps, than on the heather-covered hill. The trees 
were nearly bare, and the leaves lay shrivelled, 
crackling beneath our feet : just below nestled the 
gray walls and roof of Leamwell Hall, and half-way 
up the opposite height lay the little homestead, 
called, I was told, in the country round, the Abode 
of Peace. Peaceful enough it looked with its curling 
wreath of smoke, and its shortcomings, if it had any, 
curtained by the distance, and great grew the longing 
in my heart for the calm that seemed to encompass 
it. But it was far from where we walked, separated 
from us by the valley’s breadth and depth ; and very 
far was I, though happily I knew it not, from any 
abidng place which held the charm of peace. 

Presently the sun broke through the veil of cloud 
and the gray day smiled ; colour sprang out upon the 
sparse-leaved trees, and the grass took on a more 
vivid green. My spirits rose, cheered by the burst 
of brightness, and, youth being strong within me — 
for I was but twenty-two, it must be remembered — I 
was soon chatting merrily to Mrs. Loveday, forget- 
ting fears and forebodings in the pleasure of the mo- 
ment. We followed the winding road through the 
grounds of Leamwell Hall down into Gullington vil- 
lage, and took our way to the little post-office, to see 
if the second post had brought us any letters, for 
there was but one delivery in the day up at the 


I FEAR AN ENEMY AND FIND A FRIEND. 

farm. There was a letter from Beta, and I read it as 
we strolled back slowly up the hill. 

“ I miss you dreadfully,” she wrote, “ and there 
isn’t even the excitement of ghosts now you are 
away.” (Oh Beta, Bea, if you only knew !) “ He 

came yesterday ” (I knew of course who he meant) 
“ and it went off as well as could be expected. 
Mother was very missionary, but he fitted into her as 
well as he could, and told her a lot of things about 
the interior of Africa she didn’t know. Of course she 
hasn’t asked him to anything, but he is going to the 
Parkers’ At Home, so there is that to look forward 
to. I was rather glad Jesse was away, because he’s 
always so dreadfully sharp, and often so disagreeable, 
and he might have set Mother against him. Jesse’s 
gone to the north or the south — near Bristol, wher- 
ever that is — south, I suppose, isn’t it? and Mother 
has looked very glum ever since. Jesse’s little finger 
is more to her than my whole body, I know, but I 
don’t mind — I don’t mind anything as long as he 
cares and you don’t forget me and don’t stay away 
for ever.” 

Beta’s style was rather confused and the various 
he's might have puzzled anybody but me ; but I was 
used to her letters and quite prepared to jump from 
brother to lover without more decided indication of 
the different persons than she was accustomed to 
give. 

So Jesse was away, at Bristol. The news sug- 
gested much and set me wondering, and I was silent 
most of the way home, thinking over Beta’s letter. 

In the evening I spoke to Mrs. Loveday about 
my coming of age.” 

I suppose people can do as they like,” I said, 
when they are of age.” 


^2 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ But are you not of age already ? ” she asked. 
“ I understood from Mrs. Pimpernel ” 

“ Oh, I am over twenty-one,” I said, “ Fm 
twenty-two; but I don’t come of age, as far as get- 
ting possession of my money goes till Fm twenty- 
three. I wonder what I shall do ! ” 

I did not like the idea of leaving Beta, but yet it 
seemed impossible that I should stay on at South 
Kensington, imperative that I should seek another 
home. And Beta might marry ; probably would, 1 
thought, so I need hardly consider her ; and besides, 
her mother would most likely want to get rid of 
me as soon as possible. Surely she would ; other- 
wise — 

“ Mrs. Loveday,” I said suddenly ; “ I have an 
idea that my guardian hates me.” 

‘‘ My dear ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Loveday, what a 
very shocking thing to think ! ” 

“ I think so, though,” I went on musingly, “ I 
think she must want to drive me from her house.” 

Mrs. Loveday looked at me with such a bewiL 
dered expression that I began to laugh. 

“ Do you still think my mind is affected ? ” I 
enquired. 

She took my question quite seriously. 

“ No, no, my dear,” she said gravely, “ but I think 
you have gone through a great deal of a kind that 
would naturally upset you, and now you may be 
apt to take up with exaggerated ideas.” 

I can’t otherwise explain it,” I said, pondering. 

“ I can’t explain or attempt to explain anything,” 
Mrs. Loveday said, “ but I do think it would be a 
pity if you were to take it into your head that your 
guardian dislikes you.” 

I said nothing more. I had my own ideas on the 


I FEAR AN ENEMY AND FIND A FRIEND. 73 

subject ; they had never been in the direction of 
crediting Mrs. Pimpernel with a warm affection for 
me, and now I felt more than ever convinced that I 
was right. t 

That night passed quietly and without unusual 
incident, and the next morning was so bright that 
foreboding was banished and the world seemed in 
its normal condition again. I went out in the morn- 
ing with Mrs. Loveday, and in the afternoon set off 
for a ramble over the moor ; alone, for my companion 
was tired and said she would prefer to stay in the 
house and rest. How beautiful the day was ! and the 
moor, as it ran on and on ! The purple had gone 
with the autumn days, but the brown, undulating 
expanse — the land-sea, as I used to call it — with its 
low horizon, had a charm of its own which lack of 
colour could not destroy. And colour indeed was 
there ; not brilliant as in September days, but tender 
and delicate, if also sober and sad. I hurried on 
breathlessly ; I wanted to get to a certain spot that I 
called my throne, because it rose above the surround- 
ing level and commanded the whole sweep of the 
moor; and my eagerness to reach it made me heed- 
less of my rapid pace. At last I was there, and pant- 
ing, threw myself on the heather to rest. I lay in a 
sweet content; I loved the solitude and the silence 
of the vast unbroken space, and so near was I to the 
sky that its vastness seemed attainable. I had wan- 
dered off into a land remote from both sky and earth, 
a sort of dreamland, where thought was dim and 
fancy played with shadows, when my sense of hear- 
ing set me in the real world again. There was move- 
ment in the heather; somebody or something was 
coming towards me. I stood up and looked around ; 
a bird perhaps or a rabbit made the sound, for I could 


74 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

see nothing ; but then, as I reflected, the hollows be- 
tween the hillocks were deep enough to shield a fel- 
low traveller from my view. The day was waning 
now, and being once roused from my reverie, I began 
to think it was time to retrace my steps. I had been 
facing the sun; now, when I turned I met a darken- 
ing sky, and somehow the change from the radiance 
to the sober easterly aspect cast a shadow on my 
mood. The scene seemed suddenly dreary, and a 
longing came to me to be safe in the shelter of the 
house again. I set off quickly ; I wanted to run, but 
I would not run, for I felt that panic was at my heels, 
and that if once I broke my pace, it would urge me 
to headlong flight. From what? Indeed I did not 
know, yet felt that I must flee. On I went, doggedly, 
fighting my own impulse, knowing of no pursuer, yet 
feeling that I was pursued. I reached the edge of 
the moor and took the road ; on one side the heath 
bordered it, on the other a hedge. I was not very far 
away from the farmhouse now, and my panic calmed 
itself : I walked more leisurely, giving my heart time 
to steady its beats. Then in the hedge close to me I 
heard a rustling, a breaking of twigs, and it seemed 
to me that a man’s form forced its way through the 
close grown screen. But I did not wait to see ; with 
one bound I was off, and, my short skirts giving my 
limbs free play, with my utmost speed I covered the 
road’s descending length, and in half a score of rush- 
ing palpitating minutes had reached the shelter of 
the farm. Once safe within the gate I stood and 
looked back ; the road was empty ; in the dusk I saw 
no moving thing. I entered the house ; Mrs. Love- 
day was not in the sitting-room, and I thought that 
before going upstairs I would have another look 
along the road. I stood again by the gate ; still soli- 


I FEAR AN ENEMY AND FIND A FRIEND. 

tary the road was and — no, stay; something moves, 
approaches, — lingeringly, with pauses, close beside 
the hedge. I waited; it was a man, and he came 
slowly nearer. That he should be there was in no 
way remarkable, for people occasionally took that 
road on their way to Lyam, and besides, with the 
farm labourers so near at hand that their voices 
reached me where I stood, I had no ground for fear : 
indeed it was not fear, I think, which impelled me 
to hide myself behind the laurels, but some odd feel- 
ing in which curiosity played a considerable part. 
The man came on and I watched him through a 
space amidst the branches ; and when he was near he 
became familiar to me ; and when he was quite close, 
I thought to myself : 

“ He is not at Bristol, then, after all.” 

Then I stepped forward from behind the bush, 
and said aloud : “ Jesse ! ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


I LOSE MY TEMPER AND BARRICADE MY DOOR. 

Jesse Pimpernel gave a little jump. “ My dear 
Hester/’ he exclaimed, “ how you startled me ! Pray 
is your habit to spring forth upon your friends from 
behind bushes ? ” 

“ Oh, no,” I returned hastily, “ only I didn’t know 
you.” 

“ Then how did you come to address me by my 
name? ” 

Oh, I did of course, then ; I mean before — ^when 
you were a long way off.” 

“ It’s strangers you take stock of then from your 
spy-hole ? ” 

“ Till I see if they are strangers.” 

“ Well, little Hester,” he said, turning full to- 
wards me, “ and how have you been getting on ? ” 

“ Extremely well,” I answered. 

“ Isn’t it kind of me to come and see ? Aren’t 
you grateful to me ? ” 

“ Beta said you were at Bristol,” I replied. He 
shook his head. 

“ Not grateful at all, evidently, and hasn’t even 
the grace to pretend she is. Aren’t you the very 
least bit glad to see me ? ” 

“ I didn’t expect you, you see,” I said. 

And I’m so glad to see you” he went on re- 
76 


I LOSE MY TEMPER. 


77 

proachfully. “ I’ve thought a great deal about you, 
little Hester, you know.” 

“ So have I,” I said, “ about you.” 

“ Have you ? ” He gave me a quick glance. “ In 
what kind of way ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” I answered carelessly ; 
“ wondered what you were doing and that kind 
of thing.” 

“ Not very much. The house was awfully dull 
after you went — not even a ghost since you were not 
there to be haunted. That’s why I went to Bristol ; 
and that’s why I left Bristol and came all the way 
to this desolate world’s edge. Jove ! what a dreary 
hole! I wonder how mother heard of it.” 

“ I like it,” I said. “ It’s a beautiful place.” 

We had moved gradually along the path and now 
had reached the entrance door. It was dark inside, 
but Jesse walked straight in and found his way un- 
hesitatingly to the sitting-room. 

“ How did you know where to go? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, all these houses are built on the same plan ; 
one can’t make a mistake.” 

I thought to myself that the construction of old 
farmhouses varied considerably, but I did not say so. 
“ Where are you staying ? ” I asked. 

Nowhere at all. I can put up here, I suppose, 
can’t I? I left my luggage at the station — what I 
have of it, with orders that it should be sent up if I 
were not back by seven o’clock.” 

“ I don’t know whether Mrs. Milling can give you 
a room,” I said doubtfully. 

“ Perhaps you will go and see — when you have 
introduced me to Mrs. Loveday.” 

Mrs. Loveday had entered the room while I was 
speaking. I made the required introduction and 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

withdrew. Now I did not want Jesse to stay at the 
farm ; I was angry at his coming ; why couldn’t I be 
left in peace ? I said to myself : consequently when 
I went to ask about a room, I tried in a sort of a 
way to suggest to Mrs. Milling that she could not 
let me have one. But it was of no use ; there was the 
little room at the back, she said, and if the gentleman 
didn’t mind it being a bit lumbered up, she could 
soon get it ready for him. 

“ It’s very small, isn’t it? ” I was beginning, when 
I heard a voice behind me. 

“ The little room at the back will do excellently,” 
it said, “ and the gentleman doesn’t at all mind lum- 
ber.” 

Jesse had stolen upstairs without my hearing him, 
and now took matters into his own hands, so there 
was nothing more to be said. 

We had tea together, the three of us, and Jesse 
entertained Mrs. Loveday with stories of his life in 
America. I had never heard him talk so well be- 
fore; he had considerable power of description and 
was able to make his pictures vivid and interesting. 
I could see that he impressed Mrs. Loveday by his 
ability, and I, also, did not entirely escape the in- 
fluence of the charm he chose to exert. But after 
tea I stole away to my own room, lighted the fire 
there and crouched down beside it. I did not intend 
to be charmed by Jesse, nor did I wish him to think 
that I was particularly glad to see him. What his 
motives might be in coming to the farm, I could not 
tell, but I was resolved to be on my guard and would 
not allow myself to be cajoled or flattered by him. 
Shortly before supper Mrs. Loveday came into my 
room. 

Dear Miss Wynne,” she said, “ I am so glad 


I LOSE MY TEMPER. 


79 

to find what a kind friend you have in Mr. Pim- 
pernel.” 

“ Indeed ! ” I said coldly. 

“ Yes, and he is so interested in you in every way. 
We have had quite a long talk about you.” 

My indifference vanished. “ What have you been 
saying?” I asked quickly. 

“We have been talking over your troubles, and 
he is so distressed ” 

To Mrs. Loveday’s utter astonishment I leapt to 
my feet and threw out my hands with a despairing 
gesture. “ Good God ! ” I exclaimed, “ why couldn’t 
you have held your tongue ? ” 

“ My dear Miss Wynne,” she began, dismayed 
and half offended. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” I broke in, “ I ought 
not to have spoken like that. But if you knew ! ” I 
took a turn up the room. What did he say? What 
did you tell him? Tell me all — everything,” I said. 

“We were just speaking of all the — the trying 
experiences you have had, and he was so sympa- 
thetic and so grieved for you. He was inclined — 
naturally enough of course — to put it all down to 
fancy and the state of your health ; but when I told 
him about the other night ” 

“ Oh, you told him that ? ” I put in. 

“ Yes, I hope you — I had no idea you would 
mind. Miss Wynne,” Mrs. Loveday said timidly. 

“ Well, well, never mind ! What did he say ? ” 

“ He said that he saw the matter was more serious 
than he had thought ; and indeed, indeed. Miss 
Wynne, he seemed very deeply concerned.” 

I laughed, a bitter little laugh enough. “ Oh, I 
dare say,” I said. Mrs. Loveday stood silent and 
hesitating, then: 


8o the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ I think you are a little unjust to him,” she said 
tentatively. “ He might help you, you know, and 
I’m quite sure he wants to.” 

“ Perhaps,” I answered meditatively, “ perhaps 
you are right.” I began to think that perhaps she 
really was, that I did Jesse an injustice, that the 
terrors I had suffered had upset my good judgment, 
my sense faculties, my whole physical and mental 
equipment, and that I had jumped too hastily to 
conclusions. I would hold my fancy with a firmer 
rein, I resolved, and I went downstairs to supper, 
prepared to regard my visitor in a more favourable 
light. I confess I found it somewhat difficult to 
maintain my friendly feeling throughout the even- 
ing, for much that Jesse said and did jarred upon and 
irritated me. After supper he drew his chair up close 
to mine. 

“ Little Hester,” he said, “ I hear you have had an 
adventure.” 

My eyes were bent on my knitting and I did not 
answer him. “ I should have put it down to the 
seeing eyes,” he went on, “ to more spooks and bug- 
bears, except,” and his voice grew grave, “ that Mrs. 
Loveday tells me she saw it too.” 

“ Saw what ? ” I enquired, though of course I 
knew what he alluded to, and that he was aware too 
that I knew. 

“ The burglar — murderer — the person, whoever 
he was, who first tried to throttle you and then made 
his escape out of the window.” 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Loveday has fancies too,” I said. 

“ Don’t be angry with me because I have some- 
times thought you over-imaginative,” he pleaded, 
“ but tell me, was it anybody you could at all recog- 
nise ? anybody about the farm ? ” 


I LOSE MY TEMPER. 


8l 


“ I am quite sure it was nobody about the 
farm.” 

“ But you did see him? ” 

“ Not his face.” 

“ No, but the figure, the outline, as he sprang 
through the window.” 

“ Yes, in a sort of way.” 

“ And it was quite unknown to you ? ” 

I hesitated. Should I keep my own counsel? I 
bent my head. “ Quite,” I said. 

“ It must have been some tramp,” Jesse went on 
thoughtfully ; “or a wandering lunatic, perhaps. 
Oh, Hester, I am glad to think I am here to-night 
to protect you.” 

“ Thank you,” I said. “ And now, suppose we 
change the subject. I’ve had quite enough of it, I 
assure you, the last two days.” 

“ I dare say you have, poor little Hester, and it’s 
got on your nerves. What shall we talk about ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I’m sure.” 

“ Do you still wear your locket ? ” he asked. 

“ Of course.” 

“ Why, of course ? ” 

“ You know I can’t take it oflf,” I said, irritably 
enough I dare say, for the subject, as I have already 
said, was rather a sore one with me. 

“ You could if you liked,” said Jesse. 

“ How, pray ? ” 

“ Oh, there must be a way of unfastening it.” 

“ There is no way. I’ve often looked.” 

“ I should have it filed, if I were you. It’s so 
ridiculous.” 

I felt it to be ridiculous, and therefore his words 
vexed me. 

“ You may think so,” I returned, “ but seeing 


82 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

that it was my mother’s wish, I intend to continue 
the absurdity.” 

“ Pooh ! ” he said, “ she only did it to prevent 
your losing it while you were a child — why, you were 
a mere baby when she died — and never could have 
intended you to go on being chained up like a slave 
for ever. Or if she did, it’s such a preposterous idea, 
that you are equally preposterous to give in to it.” 

“ That’s as it may be,” I said, “ but I certainly 
shall not have the chain taken off, however prepos- 
terous you may think me.” 

“ I wish you would,” he said with sudden earnest- 
ness. “ I wish you’d let me file it through for you.” 

I shook my head. 

“ Little Hester,” he repeated, “ I wish you’d let 
me.” 

“ Why ? ” I asked. “ I don’t see how it can make 
any difference to you if I wear a dozen chains.” 

“ It does,” he said, “ it will, it must.” 

His tone was so peculiar that I turned and looked 
at him, and the expression of his face puzzled me too, 
so pleading was it, yet so set. 

“ I don’t understand you at all ! ” I said. “ The 
matter is so trivial, that I cannot understand how it 
can possibly affect you.” 

He bent towards me. Leave understanding 
on one side. I speak for your good, Hester. Be 
guided in this by me.” 

The strangeness of his manner affected me ; I 
was tempted to yield to him ; but something — my 
native obstinacy perhaps — held me back. 

“ If you would but tell me what you mean, why 
you are so anxious about it ! ” I said. He uttered an 
exclamation, then checked himself. 

“ Perhaps I, too, have seeing eyes,” he said in 


I LOSE MY TEMPER. 


83 

a lighter tone. “ Perhaps I know that misfortune is 
linked with that chain, that it will bring you ill luck, 
that by freeing yourself from it, you will avoid an 
evil destiny.” 

Somehow his words impressed me, and I could 
not repress a shudder as he spoke. He saw his ad- 
vantage. 

“ Hester, little Hester, are you going to give in 
to me ? ” he said. His eagerness, the shade of tri- 
umph in his voice, his calling me little Hester, com- 
bined to work a reaction in my mood and to fix my 
resolution in another way than the one he sought. 
I rose hastily from my chair and moved towards Mrs. 
Loveday. 

“ No, I am not,” I declared emphatically. Jesse 
shrugged his shoulders. 

” Well, it’s not worth quarrelling about,” he said 
with sudden nonchalance, and then, after a few re- 
marks to Mrs. Loveday, he left the room, saying 
he was going outside to smoke. I was glad when 
he was gone ; somehow his presence oppressed me, 
and the persistency with which he had urged me to 
remove my chain, seemed to me both tiresome and 
unwarrantable. 

“ He may be well-meaning enough,” I said to 
Mrs. Loveday, “ but he is certainly a bore ” ; and 
my remark gave her a considerable shock, for she 
was disposed to look upon him as a remarkably en- 
tertaining and agreeable person. 

“ Well, at any rate you will feel safe to-night, 
knowing you have a protector in the house,” she re- 
marked presently. 

Nevertheless, when I went to bed, I barricaded 
my door. Until the night of my adventure, I had 
contented myself, the lock being worn and rusty. 


84 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


with closing the door simply with the latch, but since 
then I had piled furniture within the threshold, to 
prevent, or at least to warn me of, the entrance of an 
intruder. 

“You lock your door, of course?” Jesse asked 
when he said good-night. 

“ No,” I answered, “ but I take precautions.” 

I was glad I had taken the precautions, for that 
night, when all was still, I was awaked out of sleep 
by the crashing on the floor of the water bottle with 
which I had topped my barricade. The crash was 
succeeded by silence, undisturbed again till the 
morning ; but I knew that my door had been tried. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


I FALL ASLEEP. 

I WENT back to London with the weight of fear 
still heavy on my heart. All my hopes that change 
of air and surroundings would sweep the nightmare 
out of my life were crushed; I returned with sus- 
picions strengthened, doubts confirmed, fancies — or 
what I had longed to prove to be fancies — made 
actual. It was a wrench to part with Mrs. Loveday ; 
she was not superlatively interesting as a companion 
nor intelligent as a guide: but I felt that I could 
trust her loyalty and affection, and when I left her 
at the station I knew that I was leaving one who 
desired to shield me from evil. 

Beta had a great deal of news for me. He (he 
being, of course. Captain Robert Lockwood) had 
been again, and Mrs. Pimpernel had not been par- 
ticularly disagreeable, and Beta had had a really long 
talk with him at the Parker’s At Home, and was 
quite sure that I would like him. I remarked that 
that was a minor point, but Beta looked so dis- 
tressed at what she took for a want of interest, that 
I was obliged to declare that I liked him already 
from what she had told me about him, and that I 
was certain I should think him charming. I soon 
had an opportunity of judging, for a few days after 
my return to London, we met him at an afternoon 

85 


86 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

party. I knew him as soon as he came into the room, 
partly from his photograph, and partly from the 
colour in Beta’s cheeks. He made his way gradu- 
ally towards her in a markedly casual way which to 
my interested observing eyes, was but a thin veil to 
a set purpose. I was very proud of Beta and thought 
how nice she looked in the gray gown which I had 
baptized with my tears some five weeks since, and 
I felt very small and unfashionable when I saw her 
piloting the fair moustache, blue eyes and correct 
costume of her officer towards me. The men of Mrs. 
Pimpernel’s acquaintance were of a distinctly dowdy 
type, and though, in my peeps at the London season, 
I beheld sometimes the inhabitants of a smarter 
world, I had had but little intercourse with people, 
either men or women, who were not in my guardian’s 
set. 

‘‘ Hester, Captain Lockwood,” said Beta, pink 
and proud. “ This is my very dear friend. Miss 
Wynne ” ; and then she blushed herself away, leav- 
ing me to talk to six feet of another girl’s lover. I 
felt that I had not even one word to give to each 
of his inches, but Captain Lockwood soon put me 
at my ease. He began at once to talk about Beta, by 
asking how long we had known each other, and as I 
gave him every encouragement, he continued the 
theme till a young man who had a class in the Sun- 
day school in which I taught, interrupted our con- 
versation by his greeting. 

“ How do you like him? ” Beta inquired eagerly 
as soon as we were safely upstairs after coming home. 

“ Oh, he’s delightful, of course,” I answered. 

She saw the laughter in my eyes. Oh, Hester, 
are you making fun ? ” 

I made my face grave, knowing Beta’s way of 


I FALL ASLEEP. 


87 


thinking that laughter always meant mockery, 
whereas I often laughed because I was amused or 
merely content. 

“ My dear,” I said, “ I like him immensely, and 
I only wish you were going to be married to-mor- 
row, that I might have him for my friend-in-law.” 

“ Truly? ” she questioned. 

“ Truly and seriously,” I said. 

“ You are so fond of sort of talking nonsense, 
you know,” she observed dubiously. 

“ Oh, let me sort of talk nonsense while I may,” 
I cried. Certainly there was not much scope for 
nonsense in my life just then, and there was soon 
to be less. 

The next day was Sunday, always a day of 
peculiar gloom in the Pimpernel household. Mrs. 
Pimpernel was more emphatically a Christian worker 
than even on Dorcas days ; there was a great deal 
of church going, a great deal of boredom, an altera- 
tion in the hours of meals, and a paucity of vege- 
tables. In the afternoon Beta and I taught in the 
Sunday school : she had a class of big girls ; I had 
the infants. Oh, those infants ! They stated in 
hymnal form that they were wandering sheep, that 
they did not love the fold, and would not be con- 
trolled, and the truth of their statements I weekly 
and bitterly proved. I tried to teach them Bible 
history, and they asked appalling questions which 
I was quite incapable of answering ; I tried surrepti- 
tious secular tales, and the superintendent came to 
listen to my instruction; and between the upbraid- 
ing of my conscience, my desire to keep order, and 
the buoyant unregeneracy of these Christian lambs, 
as they were generally called in the concluding 
prayer, I was usually completely exhausted by the 


88 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

time my attempts at teaching came to an end. That 
Sunday afternoon I remember I was particularly so ; 
my head, too, was aching; and when we reached 
home and Beta had established herself by the fire 
with a book called “ The Christian in the Home,” I 
retired into the back part of the drawing-room, laid 
myself upon a sofa, and leaning my head upon the 
cushions, sought to still the pain in it by rest. It 
was considered idle and indicative of a reprehensible 
love of luxury, to lie down in the daytime ; but Mrs. 
Pimpernel would not be back for another hour, I 
knew, from her Bible class, and by then I hoped to 
be better fitted to get through the rest of the day. 
It was quiet in there, shut off, or partly shut off, by 
the half drawn curtains, which took the place of 
folding doors ; the dim light was soothing ; and soon 
my tired eyes closed, and I fell asleep. 

I slept I do not know how long, nor precisely 
what awaked me, but when I came back to con- 
sciousness a voice was speaking in the room beyond 
the curtains. I did not recognise the voice at first ; 
I was sure it was not Beta’s; but several moments 
passed before I knew it for her mother’s. There 
was a strange sound in it, a sound I had never heard 
in it before ; and to whom was she speaking? 

'' Susan,” she said, “ I will, oh, I will ! ” 

Susan was my mother’s name, and I wondered 
what could be the meaning of the words, and of 
the strained sound, as of pain, in the voice that 
uttered them. I sat up, my heart beating quickly; 
melting too, towards the woman whom trouble 
seemed to hold and overwhelm; the sound of my 
mother’s name touched something in me which Mrs. 
Pimpernel hitherto had never touched, and I began 
to wonder if I could, and if I might dare, to help her. 


I FALL ASLEEP. 


89 


Softly I slipped from my resting-place, and softly I 
stole towards the curtained space and halted in the 
opening between the velvet folds. Mrs. Pimpernel 
was standing in the middle of the room ; her back 
was towards me ; and somehow the sight of her, the 
familiarity of that well-known figure, brought upper- 
most the timid shrinking with which from my child- 
hood she had inspired me, and I stood motionless, 
fearing to advance. She held a letter in her hand, 
and I noticed that the tall bureau in the far corner 
of the room, usually kept locked, stood open. Pres- 
ently she sat down near the fire, unfolded the letter 
and read it through ; then she leaned back in her 
chair, and stared into the grate. I could see her 
movements very distinctly, for the gas was lighted, 
and from the half darkness where I stood, the room 
was like a stage. In the Sunday stillness I caught 
some of her muttered words. “ Poor fool ! ” she said, 
“ poor silly, sentimental fool ! Ah, you would have 
been wiser, Susan, to have trusted me all through ! ” 
So she sat for a time, and then, all of a sudden, stout 
and unwieldy as she was, she slipped down on her 
knees on to the hearthrug, and clasping her hands, 
raised them upward, above her head. Her attitude, 
unsuited as was her person for dramatic or pathetic 
expression, was ridiculous, and for a moment amuse- 
ment threatened to overwhelm me; yet there was 
about her an element of such real suffering that my 
sense of the ludicrous was held in check, and in a 
sort of awed amazement I stood and watched her. 
She prayed aloud, in cant conventional phrases, 
phrases which I had often before heard from her 
lips, falling meaningless and dead: but now they 
seemed imbued with life and force; the life, I sup- 
pose, of genuine emotion, the force of actual conflict. 

7 


go THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

I began to feel, amidst my amazement, that I had 
no right to be watching her, no right to witness what 
I felt somehow to be the struggle of a soul; and I 
was about to withdraw when I heard a footstep 
descending the stairs. I knew Jesse’s tread, I did 
not want to meet him, and I resolved to wait till he 
had gone by. I withdrew a step or two behind the 
curtain, and then I heard his hand on the door 
handle; not of the door of the front part of the 
room, but the one near which I stood. Quick as 
thought, but without thought, instinctively, I reached 
and crouched down behind the high-backed sofa 
where recently I had lain and which faced the open- 
ing into the larger room. 

I have often wondered what would have hap- 
pened, how much difference it would have made, if 
I had stood still that afternoon and so declared my 
presence. I do not know; anyhow, wondering is 
idle; for I did not show myself, but was hidden by 
the sofa’s bulk, when the door softly opened and, 
in his usual silent way, Jesse stole into the room. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AN EVIL DREAM. 

For half a minute or so, Jesse Pimpernel stood 
where I had stood, and watched his mother from 
between the curtains; then he advanced. 

“ What’s this ? ” I heard him say. 

Mrs. Pimpernel’s voice stopped suddenly and I 
heard the rustle of her skirts as she rose to her feet. 
There followed words which I could not hear, and I 
thought that I could steal now to the door and make 
my exit unobserved. I was nearly there, safe hid 
behind the curtain, when I caught something which 
stopped me — the sound of my own name. I hesi- 
tated, then by a step or two I retraced the way I 
had come, and standing by the curtain’s edge, in the 
obscurity of the inner room, I watched and listened. 
I saw Jesse pick up the open letter from the hearth- 
rug, and heard him in a mocking voice begin to read 
it aloud. 

“ You will not be angry with me, dearest Clarissa, 
when you know what I have done, because when you 
read this, your poor Susan will be dead and there 
will be nothing but pity for her in your heart.” He 
broke off in his reading. “ If there is one thing more 
pernicious than another on the face of this earth,” 
he said in the soft sarcastic tones that hurt so — I 
knew how they hurt — “ it is a fool of a woman with 
money at her disposal.” 

91 


92 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


“ I was afraid to tell you what I wished,” he 
read on. “ Afraid ! ” he ejaculated contemptuously. 

“ She was always afraid,” Mrs. Pimpernel said, 
‘‘ always timid and afraid.” 

Jesse read the rest of the letter in silence; only 
towards the end he gave another sentence aloud. 
“ And to show you that I trust you, I give it into 
your charge, knowing that my dearest Clarissa — ” 
He broke off. “ Her dearest Clarissa ! ” He paused 
a moment, and then, with his eyes on his mother’s 
face: “ Well?” he said. 

“ I will not, Jesse, I will not,” Mrs. Pimpernel 
declared with rapid utterance. “ You know that my 
love for Susan Wynne was the great love of my 
life, far dearer ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know, dearer than husband, daugh- 
ter, father, mother, sisters ; dearer, in fact, than every- 
body in the world — — ” Jesse made a just percep- 
tible pause — “ except me. Mother dear.” 

I saw my guardian’s full, sallow face all troubled 
and drawn as she turned to him. 

“ Oh, Jesse, you are my all in all. But Susan — I 
can’t, no, I can’t.” 

“ You must. Mother dear.” 

His mother dear gave me something of the same 
feeling as his little Hester^ and I hated the smile that 
was on his face. 

“ When I think of her,” Mrs. Pimpernel went on, 
“ how fair and soft and gentle she was, with her 
timid ways and her trust, and her dying as she did, 
so young ” 

“ She might have lived longer perhaps, if you 
had let her marry the man she wanted to,” Jesse 
put in. 

How could I let her marry him ? ” Mrs. Pirn- 


AN EVIL DREAM. 


93 

pernel demanded. Her whole manner changed. “ A 
man like that? a drunkard, an unbeliever ” 

“ A little unorthodox, I suppose,” Jesse again in- 
terpolated. 

“ A man with whom she never could have been 
happy. I was right, I maintain, and justified. God 
used me as his instrument.” 

“ I dare say ; but that’s neither here nor there. 
The present question has not to do with Susan 
Wynne’s matrimonial happiness, but with her ” 

“ It’s no good, Jesse, I can’t and won’t agree to 
it,” Mrs. Pimpernel interrupted. 

“ Oh, yes,” Jesse murmured softly, still with the 
smile. 

“ All my life I have been religious,” she went on ; 
“ quite early God gave me His grace, and I have 
laboured for Him in the vineyard. I will be true to 
Him and to my trust, I ” 

“ You will ruin me. You know it’s my only 
chance. Very well.” 

“Oh, Jesse!” My godmother’s face, with the 
agony in it, gave me a pity I had never known till 
now. 

“ Oh, Jesse, I gave way to you once, against my 
conscience I gave way to you. I let you try, and 
you said yourself it was impossible.” 

“ You must have known before I went that it 
was impossible.” 

“ Jesse,” said Mrs. Pimpernel, “ stay here. Don’t 
go back! Stay here all your life and start afresh. 
I will give you all I can, all I have.” 

“ Stay here, and be potted like a rook ! No, thank 
you.” 

“ But for a time then. If you will wait, it 
isn’t long, wait till ” The voice sank and I 


94 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

could not hear what it said. But I heard Jesse’s 
reply. 

“ No, and I shouldn’t mind if it were a certainty. 
She attracts me and I should like to break her spirit. 
But I must have certainty, and I might lose all. 
No, mother dear, there is no choice, and the time is 
getting on.” 

“January,” Mrs. Pimpernel said. 

“ And this is the end of December. Mother, 
look here!” Jesse’s voice changed from its soft 
mockery, and his face was set. He put his hands 
on his mother’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. 
They stood sideways to me, and I could see the 
profiles of the two faces; I could see the anguish in 
hers and the little drops of moisture on her forehead, 
and I could see the grim look on his. I could not 
hear what he said to her ; his voice never rose above 
a whisper, and she never answered or interrupted 
him till he had reached the very end of what he had 
to say. At last he took his hands from her shoulders 
and stood looking at her in silence. She tottered 
as she stood ; the bulky ungraceful form swayed to 
and fro and seemed like to fall ; the broad complacent 
face was drawn and changed : it was no longer the 
imperious dogmatic guardian, no longer the Christian 
worker, whom I beheld, but a woman in an agony 
of temptation, fighting for her own ideal of herself 
against a dread and a love which mastered her. Yes, 
mastered her; for when Jesse, standing there, with 
the smile dawning on his face again, said in his soft- 
est voice: “Well, mother dear?” I knew that she 
yielded to him. I knew it, not by any word she said, 
for she was silent ; but by the pain in her eyes which 
I caught with mine as she turned ever so slowly from 
the spot where she had been standing, and by the 


AN EVIL DREAM. 


95 


dry sobbing sound which escaped her lips as Jesse, 
the smile dominant now, crossed the room and left 
her alone. I waited till his steps died away and I 
heard the closing of his bedroom door on the floor 
above ; and then at last I stole from my hiding place, 
out of the room, up the stairs, creeping, creeping, 
lest he should hear me pass, till, safe in my own 
room I burst from it into Beta’s and clung to her 
all trembling and faint. 

“ Hester, for God’s sake, Hester, what is it? what 
on earth is the matter ?. ” she cried. 

“ Oh, the worst, the worst,” was all I said. In- 
deed, I could not put into words the suspicions, the 
fear, the certainty of evil that possessed me. 

“ What do you mean ? Oh, what is it ? Are you 
mad ? ” Beta implored, terrified by my terror. And 
then in the midst of my agitation, the thought came 
clearly to me, that whatever happened I must not tell 
her what had passed ; daughter, sister as she was — 
no, it was impossible. 

“ Perhaps I am mad,” I said, “ I have had a 
dream, a nightmare, a horrible, horrible dream.” 
And then I loosed my arms from about her waist, and 
sank into a chair and leaned my head forward on 
my hands, and cried as if my heart would break. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE DREAD SHADOWS ME. 

I NEVER knew how I got through the rest of that 
day. Life seemed like an evil dream, and I felt giddy 
with the unreality and strangeness of it. We always 
went to church on Sunday evenings, and this even- 
ing we went as usual, Mrs. Pimpernel, Beta and I. 
Jesse stayed at home, according to his habit, and I 
caught a glimpse of him lounging back in an arm- 
chair smoking a cigar, as we passed the smoking- 
room door on our way out. Walking through the 
streets by my guardian’s side, sitting next her in 
church, I could hardly bring myself to believe that 
the scene which I had witnessed that afternoon was 
actual. All trace of emotion had left her; her face 
wore its usual complacent impassivity ; she joined in 
the hymns and responses with no falter or lack of 
force in her tuneless voice ; during the walk home she 
discussed the sermon with the object of finding out 
whether we had been attending to it or not, in her 
wonted way. 

Jesse, too, was just as he always was. 

“ Well, little Hester,” he said, strolling up to me 
on our return, tired of religious exercises? ” 

I don’t know what induced me to answer him as 
I did ; partly a nervous curiosity to see what effect 
my words would have upon him, partly the very 

96 


THE DREAD SHADOWS ME. 


97 


desire to avoid the subject, perhaps, impelling me 
towards it ; but this is what I said : 

“ No, my sleep in the back drawing-room this 
afternoon quite freshened me up again.” 

“ In the back drawing-room? And pray when 
were you asleep in the back drawing-room ? ” 

There was no change in his face, but his voice 
vibrated in a way I was beginning to know, and I 
became intensely conscious of my own folly. 

“ Oh, after I came back from the Sunday school,” 
I said as carelessly as I could. I knew he was 
watching me narrowly, though I did not look at 
him as I spoke ; indeed I dared not, fearing that 
my eyes would betray me. But he would not let 
me off. 

“ Have you a headache ? ” he asked. 

Not the least.” 

“ I can’t trust you as regards your ailments. Let 
me see your eyes.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” I exclaimed with an effort to 
maintain my ordinary manner. “ I shall do no such 
thing.” 

“ Look at me, little Hester,” he said. 

I felt that to refuse would be as hazardous as to 
obey, and with all my energy concentrated in the 
determination to hide from him what he sought to 
know, I raised my eyes and met his. Standing thus, 
gaze meeting gaze, he addressed his mother. 

“ Mother, do you know that Hester spent the 
afternoon asleep in the back drawing-room ? ” 

Impossible,” my guardian said quickly. 

“ And I am sure she has a headache in conse- 
quence.” 

On the contrary,” I said, “ I had a headache 
before, and the sleep cured it.” 


q8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ How long were you asleep ? Mrs. Pimpernel 
asked. 

“ I don’t know,” I answered, “ but I slept very 
soundly.” 

I had turned my eyes from Jesse’s gaze before 
this, but I knew that he still observed me. I deter- 
mined to outwit him, and I turned to him and low- 
ered my voice. “ Please don’t say anything more 
about it,” I implored. 

He sank his voice to the level of mine. “ Why? ” 

“ Oh, because we’re never supposed to lie down 
or go to sleep in the daytime : your mother thinks it’s 
lazy.” 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it? ” 

I knew by his voice that I had disarmed his sus- 
picions. 

“ All right, little Hester.” 

I had great difficulty in swallowing my supper 
(we had nine o’clock supper on Sundays) ; I felt that 
I did not want a mouthful : but I knew that my want 
of appetite would be remarked, and forced myself 
to make some show of eating. 

When I went up to bed I had an almost equally 
difficult task, for Beta had been sadly upset by my 
outbreak of the afternoon, and I had to find reason- 
able excuses for my conduct. But it was difficult to 
quiet her uneasiness. She suspected, I could see, 
that some serious trouble hung over me, though she 
could not make up her mind as to whether it was 
real or imaginary; and I had considerable difficulty 
in convincing her that I had merely had a hysterical 
attack which was now quite past and over. I did 
succeed at the last ; that she should think me odd 
and incomprehensible I could not help ; it was better 
that she should think anything than suspect the 


THE DREAD SHADOWS ME. 


99 


truth; and when we parted for the night, I had the 
comfort of knowing that she was still far from the 
knowledge of it. 

I did not sleep that night ; not till the tardy com- 
ing of the dawn did my tired brain find relief in 
a short spell of slumber ; throughout the dark hours 
I lay and faced my position, considering how I best 
could meet it. Truly it was difficult to decide; un- 
certainty hung about me, and unproved suspicions 
were inadequate to guide my conduct. That danger 
threatened me, there could be no doubt, but of what 
kind and whence it originated, I could not determine. 
And I was as defenceless as I was ignorant. I had 
nobody whom I could consult; the Sullivans were 
far away in Ireland ; and indeed had they been near 
at hand, they could not have helped me ; for I should 
not be allowed, I felt sure, to leave South Kensington 
again till Jesse had accomplished his purpose. To 
escape — that was the only way, but I had not enough 
money to pay even the third class fare to Ireland, 
and I dared not ask Mrs. Pimpernel for a half-penny 
beyond the pocket money, five shillings a week, to 
which she still restricted me. I thought of my old 
nurse ; but I could not live on her bounty ; and be- 
sides they would be sure to find me if I went to 
her. She was the first person to whom they would 
be likely to go, and they would represent me as mad 
and bring me back, and I should be more helpless 
than ever. Suddenly there flashed across me the 
face of Beta’s lover. I could trust those blue eyes 
and the kindness of the heart behind them ; but the 
little hope that was born in me had to be strangled 
at the birth ; for how could I tell him what I sus- 
pected of the mother and brother of the girl he loved ? 
Would his love, if he believed the tale, outlive it? 


100 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


At any rate I could not risk the shattering of Beta’s 
happiness ; if suffering were to come to her, it should 
not be through conscious act of mine; and indeed I 
felt that if by falling in with Jesse’s designs I could 
save her love from disaster, I would give him all he 
wished, if only I knew what it was. But everything 
was dark ; as the night about me, so was the way 
before my feet, and I knew not how to guide my 
steps. So I lay miserable, lonely and afraid, till with 
the dawn, the very intensity of my sufferings brought 
relief, and, utterly exhausted, I sank for a while into 
the blessed unconsciousness of sleep. 


CHAPTER XVL 


THE FIGURE BY THE BED. 

Not joy, but still some measure of courage and 
composure came with the morning, and, necessity 
holding firm hands upon my nerves, I braced myself 
to meet, and if possible to parry, the dangers in my 
way. Seeing my face in the glass, I felt that its 
pallor would serve me ill in hiding my knowledge 
and alarm and that somehow its aspect must be 
changed. I had no rouge, but I remembered a piece 
of crimson ribbon from which the dye had come off 
one day when I had wetted it by mistake, and now 
by its aid, I was able to give my cheeks a colour 
which hid the traces of my sleepless night. To pre- 
tend that I suspected nothing — that, I was sure, was 
my safest policy, and I was relieved to find that my 
first attempt at concealment was successful ; for Jesse, 
strolling in late to breakfast, remarked that little 
Hester was looking wonderfully well this morning, 
quite like her old self. 

“ Did you sleep well ? ” he asked. 

“ I could hardly wake myself up this morning 
when Emily called me,” I answered, truthfully 
enough, sleep when once it had claimed me, having 
been loth to let me go again. 

“ You looked very washed out last night,” Mrs. 
Pimpernel remarked. 

lOI 


102 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

I was very tired/’ I said ; and with that the con- 
versation on my personal appearance came to an 
end. 

Two days went by in the usual humdrum way, 
and, in spite of my convictions, the ordinary routine, 
the commonplace, everyday aspect of things had its 
effect upon me, and I began to wonder if by any 
chance I had been mistaken, if the conversation I 
had overheard referred indeed to me, and if my 
imagination had not painted a picture blacker than 
the truth. Yet I doubted: the evidence of my senses 
could not easily be reasoned away ; I was not mad, I 
knew; and Jesse’s face kept alive the dread which 
had dawned in me when I first beheld it. Two days : 
not a very long time you will say ; but long enough 
for fear and anxiety to prey upon the strength of one 
as weak and friendless as I, making it difficult to hide 
what I suffered. By the evening of the second day I 
felt so far from well that I begged to be allowed to 
go to bed immediately after dinner. My request was 
granted, and I went upstairs alone, thankful to escape 
the hour and a half in the drawing-room and the 
nightly game of draughts with Jesse. But Jesse 
followed me out of the room. 

“ You’re not well, little Hester,” he said. 

‘‘ No,” I replied, “ so I’ve just told you.” 

What’s the matter with you ? ” 

I haven’t diagnosed my symptoms.” 

He bit his lip. “ Shall I do it for you ? ” he asked. 

Thank you, but I won’t give you the trouble.” 

He paid no heed to my words. 

“ You’re suffering from brain excitement,” he 
said slowly. “ You should take a soothing draught 
to calm yourself before going to bed.” 

“ Thank you, but I’m not at all excited, only very 


THE FIGURE BY THE BED. 


103 

tired and a little faint. Please don’t keep me stand- 
ing here.” 

He moved to one side and let me pass, and with- 
out further words I went on upstairs. 

I had been in my room half an hour or so when I 
heard a knock at the door. The sound made me 
jump, for my nerves were strung to a dangerously 
high pitch ; but the knock was so loud and so ordi- 
nary that I was not really alarmed ; it was Emily 
bringing me my hot water, I supposed, and with 
hardly a pause, I called out : “ Come in.” To my 
astonishment it was my godmother who entered. 
She held a glass in her hand and advanced towards 
me with an air of authority. 

“ I have brought you some medicine,” she said, 
something that will soothe your nerves and do you 
good.” 

“ I don’t think I need medicine,” I answered. 

You are hardly a judge,” she returned. “ You 
will do as I bid you, and if you are not better in the 
morning, you must see the doctor.” 

Very well,” I said, prudence coming to my aid. 
“ I suppose it’s not very nasty.” 

'' Oh, no ; you will hardly taste it if you drink it 
down quickly.” 

“ Thank you,” I said. “ I suppose I had better 
take it just before getting into bed? ” 

“ Yes. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night.” 

In another moment I was alone, and as soon as I 
was quite sure that Mrs. Pimpernel was on her way 
downstairs, I emptied the contents of the .glass she 
had left with me into my basin. Suspicion was rife 
within me and I would run no risk of letting go of 
my consciousness that night. I undressed and got 


104 STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

into bed, placing the empty medicine glass on the 
table by my bedside. I was glad I had done so, for 
when Beta came up to bed, her mother accompanied 
her. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, 
breathing regularly and rather loud. It was an effort 
to keep my eyelids closed and motionless while Mrs. 
Pimpernel held the candle aloft and inspected me ; 
but I succeeded; and she soon went away, taking 
the medicine glass with her. 

The room was dark, save for the faint gleams of 
moonlight which found their way through the thick 
curtains, and, when I was sure that Beta was safely 
settled for the night, I slipped out of bed, put on my 
dressing-gown and sat upright in the darkness. The 
lock of my door was still unmended ; my only pro- 
tection was a barricade such as I had used in Derby- 
shire ; and when my eyes had got so used to the 
scarcely illumined darkness that I could be sure of 
moving about without stumbling, I crossed the room 
again and pushed the table by my bedside across the 
doorway. Then, once again, I sat down to wait. I 
hardly knew what I waited for : but the presentiment 
of evil was strong in me, and I felt that the night 
would not pass without unusual event. I had no 
inclination to sleep, yet I would not lie down for 
fear sleep should steal upon me, and with my bodily 
weakness — for I was not well, as I have said — held at 
bay by excitement and fear, I awaited in my arm- 
chair what night would bring. It brought, for what 
seemed a long, long time, nothing. Midnight 
struck : from the steeples around, the strokes of many 
clocks reached me with more or less distinctness 
through the silence : and then after years of strained 
waiting, during which I lived through scenes that 
memory recalled or imagination created, it was one 


THE FIGURE BY THE BED. 


105 


o’clock ; and again, after another long waiting, at 
last it was two. My eyes had grown so used to the 
darkness now, that the faint moonlight which tem- 
pered it enabled me to distinguish the various objects 
irf the room, and my ears were so sharpened by the 
silence that they caught the slightest sounds. From 
the mews at the back of the house, deep down below 
my window, I could hear the movements of a restless 
horse, chafing in its stall ; and from the streets the 
fitful sounds of the night were borne to me ever 
and anon. I had waited so long, and my nerves 
were so strained with the waiting, that I was hardly 
startled, but almost I think, relieved, when at last I 
heard a door open on the floor below, and a stealthy 
footfall, and the warning creak upon the stair. 

I did not move ; I had no plan of action in my 
mind; only I would not be there in the bed, ready 
for — I had never formulated to myself for what. 
Would my safeguard hold, I wondered, the barricade 
at the door? I was anxious to know, because of 
future tactics : and I would know now, surely, for 
the footfall paused just outside. The door handle 
turned very gently — the sound of its turning would 
never have awaked me — and the door was pushed, 
slowly, softly — till it reached the barricade. There 
was a pause, a second attempt, and a third. No, the 
table was too heavy evidently, to yield ; the door was 
closed again, and a faint sense of triumphant relief 
stirred within me. A yard or two the footfall moved 
away. Was that to be all then ? No, it paused again, 
and I knew now how it would enter. I did not hear, 
I only felt, the passage of the feet across Beta’s car- 
pet ; but I knew exactly when the door between the 
two rooms would open, and just in what stealthy, 
hesitating way the figure would grope its way to my 
8 


Io6 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

bedside. By that faint light from the moon I could 
see the dim form seek and find its way ; I could see 
that it bent over my bed; and I could hear the 
smothered exclamation of dismay, fear, or it might 
be anger perhaps. It raised itself again, and then 
came the hasty striking of a match, and a candle was 
lighted ; and I sat in the far corner of the room and 
looked at the figure by the bed. From that moment 
it was to me as though I were possessed by some 
spirit other than my own ; fear left me, or remained 
so cunningly clad in the garb of courage that I 
knew it not for fear, and a great calm destroyed 
all hesitation and made it seem clear to me how 
to act. I stood up, and I remember thinking 
how warm and soft were the gray folds of my 
flannel dressing-gown as they fell around me ; and 
I said: 

“ I am here.^’ 

Mrs. Pimpernel, she who had already stood once 
by my bedside in the shadow of the night, turned to 
me with such a violent start, with a face so ashen 
gray, trembled so and shook, that for the moment I 
thought she would surely fall. 

“ What do you want? ” I said. 

Then she recovered herself. “ Hester, what non- 
sense is this ? Why are you not in bed ? 

Instead of answering her questions, I repeated 
my own. 

“ What do you want? Why do you come steal- 
ing here in the night time, groping your way to my 
bedside, afraid of the light?’’ 

“ Get into bed,” she commanded, all the imperi- 
ousness of her nature flooding back to her aid. 

“ By-and-bye,” I answered, “ but tell me first why 
you are here ? ” 


THE FIGURE BY THE BED. 


107 

“Why I am here? To see that all is well with 
you, to satisfy ” 

Just then the door into the next room, the door 
through which she had come, opened wider, and Beta, 
with startled, sleepy eyes, stood in her white night- 
gown in the doorway, amazement in every line of her. 

“ Mother ! ” she exclaimed. “ Hester ! ” 

“ Hester is far from well,” Mrs. Pimpernel said, 
speaking with rapid, thickened utterance, “ and I 
came up — I felt uneasy about her — to see, to assure 
myself ” 

Dear Beta ! All the astonishment in her face 
changed at once to the tenderest solicitude, and her 
voice rang anxiously as she came towards me. 

“Are you really ill, Hester?” 

I thought of nothing just then, except to reas- 
sure her. 

“ No, my dear,” I said. “ I am all right. I felt 
tired and faint this evening after dinner, but there is 
nothing the least serious the matter with me.” 

“Then why ?” Beta turned towards her 

mother. 

“ It was quite unnecessary,” I answered, “ that 
Mrs. Pimpernel should have troubled herself to come 
groping to my bedside in the dark.” 

“ I didn’t wish to wake her. Beta, if she were 
asleep.” 

There was an eagerness in my guardian’s voice 
and manner, an anxiety to justify herself in the eyes 
of her child, which, in spite of the anger and the 
horror I felt, appealed to me as pitiful, and for Beta’s 
sake I spoke as I spoke next. 

“ It was very considerate of your mother,” I said, 
“ but she has been unnecessarily anxious. And now, 
had we not all better go back to bed ? ” 


Io8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

Slowly Mrs. Pimpernel crossed the room, back to 
the door by which she had entered. My eyes were 
upon her, and just at the last she turned and met 
them and shrank before what they told her. 

Beta and I were left alone, and I felt my courage 
departing with the need of it; it was with a great 
effort that I met her wondering, anxious gaze. 

'' Hester,” she said, “ I — I hardly understand.” 

I gave a little laugh that should have been a sob. 

I don’t wonder you are puzzled ; and it does all 
seem very — very ridiculous.” (If my breath would 
only come properly, instead of in those gasps !) 

“ But there must be something wrong.” 

“ Nothing to matter,” I said. “ Go back to bed, 
Beta. And I — I am very tired.” 

“ You are sure you are not ill ? ” 

“ Quite sure. Beta dear, quite sure.” 

She came close to me, and put her arms about me 
and kissed me. Oh, reader, how I longed to lay my 
head against her shoulder and tell her all my dread ! 
She was so much taller than I, and I felt myself so 
helpless and so small. But I dared not ; I knew that 
I was of sterner fibre than she, and I would not 
weight her with my burden. I led her back to her 
bed and saw her comfortably settled there and kissed 
her and left her content ; and then I went back to 
my own room and looked my fear in the face. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


I FIND AN ADDRESS. 

I HAD sat for some time, hardly thinking, feeling, 
rather than with my mind considering, the increased 
danger of my position, when my eyes which for 
some time had seen nothing of the outer world sud- 
denly made me aware of a small shining object close 
to me on the floor. Mechanically I rose and picked 
it up, wondering with but half of my distraught mind, 
what it might be ; but presently the unusual shape 
and workmanship of it aroused my full attention, and 
awakened my curiosity. It was unlike anything I 
had ever seen before ; a golden hieroglyphic ; in size 
about the length of a watchkey. There was some- 
thing familiar about it too ; the curves at the base re- 
called a pattern that I somehow knew, and my weary 
brain sought to fix the recollection. Whence did 
it come ? Certainly it was not mine ; or Beta’s ; for 
I knew every trinket she possessed. Then there was 
but one explanation — my guardian must have 
dropped it. I had never seen her with it, to be sure, 

but As I mused, my hand made its way to the 

locket at my throat and toyed with it, according to 
a habit that I had ; and all at once, clear and sure as 
certainty, the conviction flashed upon me that the 
piece of twisted gold was a key. Quickly I made my 
way to the mirror and turned the back of the locket 
to the light. Yes, there was the pattern which had 

109 


no THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

made the outline of my new-found treasure familiar ; 
the waving base of the golden key would fit into 
the curving incision on the back of the locket. I 
tried it ; my trembling hands, the flickering light, and 
the fact that I could not see what I was doing 
without the aid of the looking-glass delayed suc- 
cess : yet I was sure that I had but to persevere ; 
and at last perseverance attained its end : the key 
fitted in. It would not turn, but pressure caused the 
loosening of some spring which made the locket to 
fly open and at the same time released the padlock- 
like bar which held the two ends of the chain to- 
gether. They fell to the ground, locket, chain and 
key, and as I stooped to raise them, I experienced 
for the first time within my memory, the sensation — 
and a curious one it seemed — of feeling my throat 
quite unconfined and free. I examined the locket, 
carefully and with eager interest. Was it in any way 
connected, I wondered, with those midnight visits to 
my bedside? Was that what Jesse and his mother 
wanted? The dropping of the key in my room in- 
clined me to think so; and I remembered Jesse’s 
efforts to persuade me to take off the chain, which 
had so annoyed me in Derbyshire. But what the 
value of such a trinket could be I was unable to im- 
agine ; intrinsically it could be worth but very little ; 
and I could not guess what was to be gained by 
acquiring it. Bringing it close to the light, I per- 
ceived that within were engraven words. I hastened 
to read them. On one side was written Susan Grant; 
that was my mother’s maiden name, I knew : on the 
other was James Brabrook, a name I did not remem- 
ber ever to have heard ; and below the last, in smaller 
characters, crowded together into the small space 
which remained, as though the addition had been an 


I FIND AN ADDRESS. 


Ill 


afterthought, was an address. I made it out with 
some difficulty owing to the minuteness of the writ- 
ing; but the letters, though small were perfectly 
clear, and after a while I was able to decipher them : 
Granbigh Hold, Clover dale, Devon, the words ran. 
What was the meaning of it? and who was James 
Brabrook? The name, facing my mother’s name, 
suggested to my girlish imagination a romance which 
had never reached fulfilment. I knew my mother 
had not been very young when she married; and I 
wondered if this man, whose name and address she 
had taken such a strange method of preserving for 
me, was the lover of her girlhood, the friend to 

whom, when she felt death coming near her 

Before the thought had time to complete itself, my 
resolution was taken. To James Brabrook would I 
go ; he would help, advise, protect me ; at some time, 
for some purpose, my mother must have intended 
me to seek him out and know him ; and now, in the 
time of my need, I would follow up the clue which 
the locket gave me. From that moment I never 
wavered; the only thing to be considered was how 
to get to Devonshire. It was a long journey, and 
I had but eight shillings and ninepence in my purse, 
and no means, that I could see, of procuring any 
more. I could not borrow from Beta, for I did not 
want her to be involved in any way whatsoever in 
what I was about to do ; and besides, her purse would 
probably be empty, as, though she had a dress al- 
lowance, she was generally in debt. And there was 
nobody else; except — yes, Mrs. Loveday, perhaps, 
would lend me the money ; and then I remembered 
with a sinking heart that she was away from her 
little home in the north of London, and that days 
must elapse before a forwarded letter could achieve 


II2 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


what I wanted. The only other person I could turn 
to for help was Jenny, my old nurse, and her home 
was an hour’s journey by train from London. But 
as I thought of her, I resolved what I would do : 
I had enough money to take me to the little Bucking- 
hamshire village where she lived, and once there, she 
would give me, I knew, what I needed to pay my 
fare to Devonshire. 

The dawn had not yet broken, but I began at 
once to make my preparations. First of all I fas- 
tened the locket and chain round my neck again, 
and put the key into my purse ; then I dressed, very 
quietly, so as not to awaken Beta; and finally I 
packed into a hand bag the few things which I con- 
sidered it absolutely necessary to take with me. 
When all was ready, it was still only five o’clock, too 
early to go to the station, even if I walked all the 
way. Still I must leave the house betimes, in order 
to run no risk of being seen by the servants ; and at 
half past five, I stole into Beta’s room, took a fare- 
well look at her as she lay sleeping and passed on 
out of her door to the staircase. It was still dark, 
and I had to feel my way by the banisters, fearful 
of making any sound to arouse those two dreaded 
sleepers, by whose rooms I must pass. That creak 
of the stair — how loud it sounded ! I paused, my 
heart in my mouth, terrified lest those doors just 
below should open ; and my garments seemed to 
rustle in a way that was new to them. Hesitating, 
groping, hardly daring to breathe even, down I went 
and still down and down. The landing where dwelt 
all that I most in this world feared was passed now ; I 
was close to the drawing-room ; and now I neared 
the hall, and the front door was before me. I could 
draw back the lower bolts and turn the big key, and 


I FIND AN ADDRESS. 


II3 

free the latch ; but the bolt at the top — I wondered if 
I could ever reach it. Standing on one of the hall 
chairs, I still was not tall enough, and the only thing 
to be done was to fetch the library steps from the 
room behind the dining-room. Half dragging, half 
lifting, I managed to convey them somehow through 
the hall, and having drawn back the bolt, I painfully 
restored them to their place. Their presence in the 
hall would point to some unusual occurrence, I knew, 
whereas if I left no sign of my flight but the un- 
bolted door, each of the servants might think the 
unbolting had been done by one of the others, and 
discovery would be delayed. Outside, the world 
looked dreamlike and unreal ; the lamps were still 
alight, and the day was as yet so feeble that I could 
have thought it night time. I hurried through the 
still empty streets, afraid at finding myself alone and 
unprotected while the morning seemed so far away : 
now and again I passed workers whose work took 
them early abroad, or homeless wanderers to whom 
the night had brought no shelter but itself. In the 
Park forlorn figures were lounging on the benches 
or straggling in from the streets for the only rest they 
might hope for; and this early morning aspect of 
London being new to me, I did not understand who 
were the miserable people who looked askance at 
me as I passed. I reached Baker Street station soon 
after half past six o’clock ; there was a train to Chal- 
font at six forty-nine, and I strolled up and down 
the platform while the fear burdened moments 
passed. Tedious the time seemed and long till the 
train pufled up, and I was able to take my seat ; and 
then, when it began to seem to me as if we would 
never start, at last we started, and I drew my first 
free breath and felt that for a certain number of 
hours, at any rate, I was safe. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


I FLEE AND AM PURSUED. 

The little station at Chalfont looked but half 
awake when I reached it, and I set out to walk to 
the farm where Jenny lived along deserted roads. 
Three miles I had to walk, but I did not mind the 
distance, for now I had a definite plan in my head, 
and to do something, anything, after the inactive sus- 
pense I had endured lately was bracing and, in a 
sense, restful. There was hoar frost on the grass 
at the side of the roads, on the hedges, and lying in 
great stretches of white on the fields, and I remem- 
ber pleasing myself with the fancy that though the 
the day had risen, the gossamer sheets had not yet 
been stripped from the quiet places of the earth 
where it had made its bed while night was abroad. 
I met hardly a soul all the way, but I knew the road, 
having twice before been allowed to pay Jenny a 
visit, and so had no need to ask for guidance. I 
was tired though, when I reached the narrow lane 
which led from the high road past Ash Farm, and 
the two walls of hedge which hemmed me in began 
to seem interminable before the tiled, many-pointed 
roof came into view. I found my way through the 
big gates leading into the farmyard, to the creeper- 
covered front of the house, heralded by the barking 
of many dogs and by the hissing of an unfriendly 


I FLEE AND AM PURSUED. 


^5 


flock of geese. It was eight o’clock now; the life 
of the farm was in full swing, and the household was 
about to begin breakfast. When Jenny first came 
to the door, she hardly knew me, for it was some 
years since we had met ; then : 

“ Miss Hester ! ” she exclaimed, divided between 
joy and alarm at my unexpected appearance, “ what- 
ever brings you at this hour of the morning ? ” 

“ Oh, Jenny,” I said, and could say no more. I 
had felt quite brave and strong throughout my walk, 
and had thought exactly how I would tell my tale ; 
and now when I had reached shelter and sympathy, 
all my courage oozed away and my self-confidence, 
and I felt as if my heart had turned into a well of 
tears which I longed to shed. Jenny knew my com- 
position of old, how as a child suffering or excite- 
ment had been apt to upset the balance of my nerves, 
and without another word she took me by the hand 
and led me into the best sitting-room, the room she 
let to lodgers, and laid me on the sofa, while she 
proceeded at once to light a fire. That low-roofed 
room ! — shall I ever forget it, and the rest and the 
calm of it? Green panelled the walls were, soothing 
and pleasant to the eye and mind, and the ceiling ran 
not quite level above them ; one diamond-paned win- 
dow, three times the breadth of its height, looked on 
to the farmyard, seen through a glow of red from 
the scarlet geraniums on the sill ; the other, made in 
the fashion of a door, opened on to a plot of green, 
divided by a wooden paling with a gate in it from 
the grass meadow beyond. A cottage piano stood 
against the wall opposite the fireplace, and close to 
the fireplace was the broad old-fashioned sofa upon 
which I lay ; and the large round table in the middle 
of the room, with its red cloth, the smaller one 


Il6 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

in the corner adorned by books, mostly prizes 
won by the Elsdon children, the narrow mantelshelf, 
the faded carpet, the straight, honest chairs with 
their white crocheted antimacassars and bits of red 
ribbon — all these things, combined into a general 
impression of homeliness and friendly greeting, 
stamped themselves upon my brain and sank into my 
heart. Jenny took up at once her old nursery airs 
of authority, and I was commanded to lie still and 
quiet till I should have had some hot tea and bacon 
and home-made bread and butter. It was very sweet 
and soothing to me to lie thus and be bidden what 
to do ; for all through my life, though the course of 
it has been such that I have been compelled to stand 
upright, to fight my own battles, to support rather 
than be supported, I have always had the desire to 
lean on a strength greater than my own ; and for 
this half-hour, while Jenny fed and tyrannised over 
me as in my childhood’s days, I was quietly happy 
in a rare sense of comforting dependence. 

At last the time came to tell my story, and as I 
told it, I felt how strange, how unlikely, how in- 
credible it must sound. Yet the dread that grew 
strong again in me as I spoke, must have spread from 
me to my hearer, carrying conviction with it, for 
Jenny, who at first was inclined to interrupt my nar- 
rative with, “ Dear, dear. Miss Hester, now, are you 
sure it wasn’t some of your fancies? You was always 
given to fancying, from the time you was a mite of 
a thing,” grew anxious and alarmed as I went on, 
and when I ended, sat staring at me with fond, 
frightened eyes, unable at first to utter a word. 
Words came soon, though, and volubly, offers of aid 
and questions as to how she best could give it, and 
when I told her my plan, she was more than eager 


I FLEE AND AM PURSUED. 


117 

to help me carry it out. I did not tell her the house 
or place to which I was going; if enquiries were 
made of her, it would be better, I thought, that she 
should be really ignorant of my whereabouts ; she 
could not possibly reveal what she did not know ; 
and she herself was quite willing to take my view, 
only begging me to let her know of my safety. 

I left Ash Farm with a clear vision of Jenny’s 
kind and anxious face, and a general impression of 
various pinafored and knickerbockered little Elsdons 
with fingers stuck shyly between rosy lips, and dark 
staring eyes full of curiosity. Jenny’s husband drove 
me to the station in his gig; a big, dark bearded 
man, with a chivalrous simple heart and a desire to 
befriend me, obvious, though unexpressed. I felt 
less lonely, starting off in my third class carriage, 
with that burly form watching me from the platform ; 
and with enough money in my pocket to carry me 
to Devonshire and with Jenny’s approval of my pur- 
pose strengthening my power of fulfilling it, my 
courage and self-confidence grew firm again, and I 
even began to consider with a certain amount of 
curiosity, what and whom I should find at Granbigh 
Hold. 

The train drew nearer and nearer to London ; we 
passed Hampstead without stopping and were now in 
darkness, rumbling underground, down from the 
high ground to the lower level of Baker Street. We 
slackened speed ; we were almost there ; and now 
we were alongside the platform, where a number of 
passengers were waiting to get into the train which in 
ten minutes would start again on the down journey. 
A man in the compartment with me had his hand 
on the door handle, ready to leap out at the first 
possible moment, and I gripped my bag tight, pre- 


Il8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

pared to follow him when the train should come to a 
standstill : then with a start I drew back ; I dared 
not alight and I felt suddenly sick and faint ; for, 
within a few feet of me, waiting on the platform, 
stood Jesse Pimpernel. The third class carriages 
were in the front of the train and the first at the very 
back: Jesse would travel first in his pursuit of me, 
I knew, knowing his luxurious ways, and would go 
therefore to the end of the platform farthest away 
from the place where I would alight. But he might 
not get into the train till it was just upon time to 
start, and if — oh, if he should see me! I dared not 
risk it, and I dared not remain where I was, for fear 
of being questioned by the officials or of being car- 
ried forth again in the company of my enemy. I 
looked out of the window on the further side of the 
carriage ; there was a narrow platform there dividing 
the two lines of rails, and at once I attempted to 
open the door which gave on to it. The door was 
very stiff; at first I thought it was locked, and the 
wild disappointment of that moment I shall never 
forget : but it opened — as I forced myself to treat the 
handle more gently, it opened, and I jumped out, 
and without one backward glance made my terrified 
way out of the station. I had meant to go by the 
inner circle train to Paddington, but I could not run 
the risk of delay, I could not wander, seeking the 
right platform, about that underground labyrinth. I 
knew my way to the street, and to the street I has- 
tened, and there, hurrying into the first cab I saw : 
“ To Paddington station,” I called to the driver ; and 
panting, trembling, wondering whether I had indeed 
escaped, I was driven quickly away. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE END OF A JOURNEY. 

It was quite late at night when I reached Clover- 
dale, far too late to continue my way to Granbigh 
Hold, and I was obliged to seek shelter in the little 
inn in the sleep-locked High Street. The hostess 
eyed me curiously; she was surprised, no doubt, to 
see, at an hour when she expected none but commer- 
cial travellers, a customer like myself. My absence 
of luggage, too, had a suspicious look, I dare say; 
but when I offered to pay for my night’s lodging in 
advance, her fears in regard to my honesty, at any 
rate, were set at rest, and she took me up to an 
ancient little room where the floor seemed bent on 
emulating the sloping angles of the roof. There was 
a bed in it, though, and a clean one, and I felt that 
I wanted just then, in the intense fatigue which 
almost overpowered me, nothing else. Sleep, which 
for so long now, had come to me only in uneasy 
snatches, folded me in gentle, dream-banishing arms 
to her very bosom that night. That night ? nay, far 
on into the morning, for when at last I awoke, the 
daylight was broad and full, and looking at my watch 
I found it was nearly nine o’clock. Hastily I sprang 
from my bed and dressed, and before another hour 
was well over, I was on my way to Granbigh Hold. 
I had made no enquiries of my landlady, beyond ask- 

119 


120 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

ing my way ; I thought it better, for one thing, to say 
as little about myself or my movements as possible ; 
and then too, I was afraid of the answers my ques- 
tions might bring me. For, reader, now that I was 
so near my journey’s end, the natural timidity of 
my nature reasserted itself, and I was afraid of hear- 
ing anything about the place and the people I sought, 
which might further discourage and distress me. It 
was a long walk, along the highroad at first and then 
by what was hardly more than a track across a moor- 
land plain, broken in upon by unhedged stretches of 
fields. As I advanced further and further across the 
plain, I became conscious of a constant, booming 
sound, full but not loud, powerful and yet dim. I 
wondered what it could be, not dreaming at that time 
that I was drawing near to the sea, and that the 
sound I heard came from the great Atlantic, from 
that same imperious ocean whose waves beat and 
broke unceasingly on the Irish coast I knew. In the 
distance I saw gray walls uprising from the brown 
of the moor; a building, no doubt, though I could 
not distinguish the form of it, and looking strangely 
desolate in its isolation. I drew bit by bit nearer, 
and then the mass of gray resolved itself into a house 
surrounded by high walls. Only the roof and the 
upper windows of the house could I see, for the sur- 
rounding walls were so lofty that they hid the greater 
part of it from view. 

My heart beat high with a strange mixture of 
curiosity and hope and dread as I approached, for I 
knew that this must be Granbigh Hold. At last I 
was there, close under the walls, and I walked on 
beside the high gray shield of stone till I reached a 
postern gate, of wood, with a little grille in it. The 
grille, however, was covered from the inside and so 


THE END OF A JOURNEY. 


I2I 


was useless to me as a peephole, and there was noth- 
ing for it but to try the latch of the gate. It yielded 
at once to pressure, and another instant showed me a 
fair smooth plot of grass, girdled with flagged formal 
paths, and beyond the paths, wide borders where late 
autumn flowers grew under the shelter of the walls. 
The house directly faced me ; long and low, with 
wide, small-paned windows, and broken, gabled roof, 
and about it an atmosphere alike of peace and soli- 
tude. I made my way, fearful and hesitating, round 
by the flagged path to the door. It was opened 
presently by a matronly-looking woman with sleeves 
turned back, a cap and a large apron. 

“ Is your master at home? ” I said. 

She thought so, she answered, but she couldn’t 
be sure ; he might be out and about the farm. Did 
I want him particularly, or would the mistress, 
perhaps 

“ Anybody,” I said, and followed her into a wide, 
square hall and thence into a room, prim and re- 
fined, severe, but beautiful. I don’t know quite how 
to describe the impression which that room made 
upon me ; later on I understood what it was that 
went to the formation of it ; but then, as I stood, 
timid, doubtful and weary, I was only conscious of 
distinct elements, not so much antagonistic as con- 
flicting. The dark shining furniture, which, igno- 
rant though I was of such things, I yet felt to be 
beautiful and rare, was arranged with stiff precision ; 
books which I somehow knew to be on religious 
subjects, lay square and dogmatic by objects 
moulded or carved by an artist’s hand; everywhere 
formality marched with grace. 

The door opened and a woman entered ; a woman 
medium of stature, slight of figure, with a pale, 
9 


122 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

delicately cut face, and gray smooth hair turned back 
from her forehead. Truth in its rigidity looked forth 
from her eyes, virtue uncompromising sat upon her 
brow. I knew her to be good, I felt her to be stern ; 

I trusted and feared her. Our eyes exchanged a 
greeting; she asked what I wanted and I implored 
her aid ; and then we spoke with our lips. 

“ James — Mr. James Brabrook,” I faltered, the 
words stamped firmly on my brain coming first to 
my tongue. 

“ Sit down,” she said, and then, quite calmly 
added : “ My husband is dead.” 

“ Dead ? ” There must have been strong emotion 
in my voice, for her quiet face looked startled. 

“ He died,” she said, “ nineteen years ago.” 

Her words overwhelmed me. Nineteen years 
ago ! a year then after my mother’s own death ! 
And what could I do now ? How could that inscrip- 
tion in the locket serve me, now that my protector — 
for it was thus I thought of him — was no longer in • 
the world? The full friendliness and desolation of 
my position was borne in upon me, but words failed 
me to express or explain my emotion. 

‘‘ Oh, I have come so far,” I breathed, and it was 
all I could say. Mrs. Brabrook regarded me with a 
not unkindly air. 

“ Where have you come from ? Who are you ? ” 
she asked. 

Probably she had never heard of me, I reflected, 
and how was I to tell this stranger all the cause and 
reason of my coming? Would she believe or under- 
stand such a story as mine? The hopelessness of it 
all made me despair. 

“ Oh,” I groaned, “ you won’t, I dare say, even 
know my name. I am Hester Wynne.” 


THE END OF A JOURNEY. 


123 


“ You are Hester Wynne? ” 

The quickening of her utterance, the interest in 
her voice roused me to new, sudden hope. 

“ Do you know,” I asked eagerly, “ do you 
know me ? who I am ? ” 

“ I know — not much,” she answered, “ but still 
something, and something important. I am glad 
you have come.” 

At that moment a shadow crossed the window; 
Mrs. Brabrook glanced towards it, then went out into 
the hall and called. 

“ John ! Come here ! ” She came back in a 
minute, a man, a young man, following her; and 
for the first time I looked on John Brabrook. How 
the picture remains with me ! The tall figure, slight 
and strong, the noble face, the curving sensitive 
mouth and the eyes with the smile in them. Reader, 
from that first moment, I think, I loved him ; or, 
at least, if it was not so, I know not when love 
began ; since though, looking back through the 
years, I know that each day of our friendship made 
him dearer to me, I yet can think of no day from 
the very beginning when he was not dear. 

“ John,” said his mother, “ this is Hester 
Wynne.” 

He heard her words, of course, but I think he was 
giving less of his attention to what she said than 
to the weariness and suffering in my face. Ble was 
shy — I felt it at once, as I felt and knew so much 
about him intuitively — but the pity he had for me 
overcame the shyne'^s, and he came up to me and 
held out his hand, saying : 

“ I am sure you are very tired.” 

Simple words, that a stranger might say con- 
ventionally to a stranger; but what they really 


124 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

meant was: “ You are small and lonely; you touch 
the tenderest part of my heart ; and I will take care 
of you ’’ ; and from that moment I knew what it was 
to have a protector. 

“ Hester Wynne ! ” he went on presently, when 
we were all seated, and Deborah, the woman who 
had opened the door to me, had brought some bis- 
cuits and a glass of milk for my refreshment : “ it 
has been a name with me for long, and I have looked 
forward to the time when the name would become a 
person.” 

“ But that time might never have come,” I said, 

“ if ” I stopped, for they had yet to learn what 

had brought me to the Hold. 

“ It must have come,” he said, next January.” 

“ I shall be of age next January.” 

He smiled. “ I thought that was probably it.” 

“ You don’t look twenty-one,” Mrs. Brabrook 
remarked. 

“ Oh,” I cried in dismay, “ but I shall be twenty- 
three.” 

“ You come of age two years later than is cus- 
tomary then ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ and I wish I didn’t. If only it 
had been at the proper time — two years ago ! ” 

“ Are you so anxious to come into your king- 
dom? ” John asked. 

No; but then it would have been before Jesse 
came home.” 

“ And who is Jessie? ” There was a faint gleam 
of amusement in his eyes. “ I don’t know her, you 
see.” 

“ It isn’t her, it’s him,” I answered. “ He’s Jesse 
Pimpernel, Mrs. Pimpernel’s son, and Mrs. Pim- 
pernel is my guardian.” 


THE END OF A JOURNEY. 


125 

“ Is her name Clarissa ? ” Mrs. Brabrook asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then I know,” she said. 

“ It is because of Jesse,” I went on, and involun- 
tarily I lowered my voice, “ that I am here. When 
I found the name in the locket, and the address, I 

thought that ” I broke off ; the bewildered look 

on the faces of the mother and son told me that I 
must be coherent and tell my tale from the very 
beginning. “ It will be best,” I said, “ for me to tell 
you the whole story, but I — it is all so strange — 
and I wonder if you will understand, if you will be 

able — if you will help But perhaps you will not 

even believe me.” Involuntarily I began to tremble, 
and the agitation which could not but arise when I 
thought of all I had gone through, all I had escaped, 
all that might still befall me if I should fail to find 
help and protection, threatened to overthrow my self- 
control. 

Mrs. Brabrook looked at me in her inflexible 
way. “ You had better wait I think, till you are 
calmer, if you have a story to tell.” 

“ Miss Wynne is very tired, I am sure,” said her 
son. ‘‘ She ought to lie down and have a good rest 
before she attempts to do or say anything.” 

“ Yes. Would you like to stay here on the sofa, 
Miss Wynne, or would you rather go upstairs?” 

“ I would rather, I think,’ I said, “ go — go up- 
stairs.” 

My voice faltered as I spoke ; I rose or tried to 
rise to my feet. A strange feeling was upon me, a 
dizziness, a sense of gathering mist and darkness ; I 
had a vague idea that I must go at once and quickly, 
upstairs as Mrs. Brabrook said, to some quiet place 
where I could lie down and rest, before the darkness 


126 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


quite overpowered me, before the reeling, tottering 
world quite fell and carried me with it. I have a dim 
impression of trying to rise, of strong arms cast 
about me, of being raised and borne in those arms 
through what seemed limitless space ; and then I re- 
member nothing more at all for a long time; so 
long, so long! 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE DREAD COMES BACK. 

I HAVE often wondered whether, had the illness 
which held me for so long in its grasp, never taken 
place, it would have made a great difference in the 
events which followed. Should I have been saved 
from any of the further suffering and danger, if I 
had been able to tell at once what had brought me 
to Granbigh Hold ? Perhaps ; and yet I don’t know ; 
my tale sounded incredible, and might in any case 
have met with incredulity. Anyhow it is useless to 
wonder, for it was not so : it was long, as I said, be- 
fore reason and memory came back to me, and for 
many weeks and weary wanderings of delirium were 
the only sort of consciousness I knew. 

When I once more knew myself and the world 
about me, snow lay all around upon the moor and 
the hills, and the hard, still grip of frost held the 
earth in a trance. I remember quite well my awak- 
ening into this mid winter. Opening my eyes, I 
saw at first nothing but the glow of a fire which 
gleamed and crackled opposite to my bed. I did not 
at first even consider where I was, and some time 
must have passed, I fancy, before I realised that my 
surroundings were quite unknown to me. Curtains 
of pale flowered chintz draped the windows ; old oak 

127 


128 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

furniture stood dark against the white panelled walls ; 
I lay in a little oak bedstead; and close to my side 
was a table on which were medicine bottles, glasses, 
and a feeding cup. It was only gradually, however, 
that all these things came within my ken, that I 
awoke to the consciousness that the objects about 
me were unfamiliar, and that I began to wonder 
where I was. Then I tried to sit up and look about 
me ; a futile effort, for I could not even raise my 
head from the pillow. What had happened to me? 
I was not in Ireland, I was certainly not in my own 
room in London. Whom could I be staying with? 
and why was I so tired and weak that I could 
not move? Thus far had I got in my reflections 
when I heard the door open and a footstep draw 
near my bed. The sounds awoke a train of recollec- 
tion, and suddenly came the memory of my night- 
watch in the dark, of my guardian’s midnight visit, 

of my escape, of my flight to Whither was I 

going? and how far — where was I now? The foot- 
steps came cautiously round the foot of the bed and 
someone stood by my side. It was afternoon and 
the light was growing dim ; I could not distinctly 
see the face, I did not recognise the outline of the 
figure. Then a voice spoke. 

“ You are awake, then? You have slept a long, 
long time. You will get well soon now.” 

“ Am I ill ? ” How thin and quivering my voice 
sounded ! 

“ You have been — very ill.” 

“ Where am I ? ” 

“ Hush ! not too many questions. Drink some of 
this.” 

A cup was held to my lips and I drank obedi- 
ently, something lukewarm and gelatinous. 


THE DREAD COMES BACK. 


129 


“ You are with friends,” the cold calm voice 
went on. “ Don’t try to think of anything just 
now.” 

“With friends? but who — how — ” Recollec- 
tion struggling in my brain made the barrier of 
oblivion which held it back seem insupportable. 
“ Oh, I must know,” I said in that feeble little voice, 
“ or my head will burst.” 

“ You are at Granbigh Hold. My name is Bra- 
brook — ^James Brabrook’s wife. Now do you re- 
member ? ” 

Did I remember? I began to think; yes, I re- 
membered — James Brabrook — the locket — my 
mothers friend. “ Am I safe ? ” I asked with an 
eager suddenness which startled my informant. 

“ Quite safe,” she answered soothingly, “ quite 
safe. Now try to rest again.” 

But I could not rest just yet. 

“ It was the locket, wasn’t it ? ” I said, “ and the 
name inside — ? ” 

“ Yes, yes.” 

“ And I came, yes, with money — Jenny — but he 
is dead.” 

“ Yes, but it is all right, it will all be all right.” 

“ You are quite sure I am safe.” 

“ You are quite safe.” 

“ Quite safe, quite, quite safe,” I think I mur- 
mured — I know at least the words were in my mind ; 
and then I suppose I fell asleep again. 

That room became very familiar to me before I 
was able to leave it ; I knew it in the early morning, 
in the midday brightness, in the evening twilight, 
and in the night time, when the little shaded light 
shone cheeringly and steadily through the darkness. 
Gradually my strength came back to me; and not 


130 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

tOQ slowly either, for I had wonderful recuperative 
power, the doctor said. There came a day when I 
was lifted from the bed to the sofa, and when I tried 
to stand on legs that seemed to crumble away from 
under me ; and then another day when I was fully 
dressed and carried down to the room where I had 
lost consciousness ten weeks before. John Bra^ 
brook carried me down in his arms, as he had carried 
me up. We were quite on familiar terms now, for 
through all the time that I called my sofa days, he 
had come every afternoon and sat and talked with 
me, and the sympathy which had sprung up between 
us at the first, had developed into a friendship which 
was more important and precious to me than at that 
time I understood. We had talked of many things ; 
of books, of foreign countries, of places and people, 
of the kinds of scenery that pleased us best, of tastes 
and likes and dislikes ; of everything almost in the 
world, I think, as the world was known to me then, 
except the reason of my coming to Granbigh Hold. 
Several times I began upon the subject, and always, 
I never quite knew how, he led the conversation away 
from it ; and once, when I directly said that I wished 
to talk about it, that there was much T wanted to ask 
and tell and know, he answered that we must wait 
till I was quite strong again, and that until he gave 
me leave, I was to keep all thoughts of what had 
happened before my illness and what was to follow 
after it, out of my mind. Reader, I obeyed him ; 
just because, I think, it was sweet to me to obey : 
much as I liked to have my will, — and, timid as my 
nature was in many respects, I know full well that I 
was fond of my own way — it never came hardly to 
me to submit to John Brabrook. I used some- 
times to wonder why it was in those days, not know- 


THE DREAD COMES BACK. 


I3I 

ing that it was just the woman’s nature desir- 
ous of yielding to the mastership of the man she 
loved. 

I was placed on the sofa in the quaint room which 
had impressed me so on the day of my arrival. I 
understood now the contrasts in it and the contra- 
dictions ; the conflicting tendencies of John Brabrook 
and his mother it was which produced the impres- 
sion it made upon me. For the son was an artist by 
nature, whereas the mother was a Puritan from her 
heart’s core to her finger tips ; not skin-deep were 
her ideas, the results of education and upbringing, 
but rooted in the very essence of her being; as John 
was essentially a lover of beauty, of gladness, of the 
glory and the sweetness of life. Yet the bond be- 
tween them was unusually — and curiously, as I 
thought — strong. Her firm, passionless nature held 
his passionate, eager one by very force of contrast ; 
to her authority, exercised inflexibly from his 
childhood up, he yielded an obedience which was 
chivalrous, rather than submissive ; to her unde- 
monstrative af¥ection he responded with an unfailing 
consideration for her prejudices and opinions. On 
her side, she came as near to adoring him, I think, 
as the coldness of her nature allowed and the 
strength of her religion permitted. She was proud 
of him, proud of the very things in him of which she 
instinctively disapproved ; she deprecated and ad- 
mired, she condemned and was tempted to worship. 
As I lay on the sofa those first few days after I came 
downstairs, I often thought of another mother and 
another son, of Mrs. Pimpernel and Jesse, and of 
the contrast between the two pairs. “ And yet,” I 
thought, thinking of Mrs. Pimpernel, “ she loves him 
— there can be no doubt of that. What a strange 


132 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

thing, that love should so lower ! But if it lowers, is 
it love, or just mere selfishness?’^ 

“ What do you think ? ” I said aloud, one day, 
“ can a thing which lowers one ever be love ? ” 

“ Love,” answered Mrs. Brabrook, “ would cut 
out its very heart and cast it away rather than that 
the soul should perish.” 

Involuntarily and questioningly my eyes sought 
John’s. 

“ I don’t know,” he said, “ what love might or 
might not do.” 

“ I was thinking,” I said, and I drew in my breath 
sharply, for I shrank with an intense shrinking from 
speaking of my past experiences, “of Jesse Pim- 
pernel ; and — and I think I ought to tell you now 
about it all, and about my coming here.” 

I saw the mother and son exchange glances, but 
I could not know, how could I dream? what the 
glances meant ; I only saw that Mrs. Brabrook’s face 
took on a sterner look and that those tell-tale lips of 
her son’s showed disquietude as he rose and left the 
room. 

“ Hester,” Mrs. Brabrook began when we were 
alone, “ you came of age last month.” 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ while I was ill.” 

“ You had brain fever,” she went on ; “ you were 
wildly delirious ; in your delirium you spoke con- 
stantly of your guardian and her son.” 

“ I dare say,” I said, “ I dare say, for the terror 
of them possessed me.” 

“ That illness had been coming on for some time ; 
for some time back your brain must have been more 
or less distraught.” 

“ I think I was half mad,” I murmured, “ with 
the terror and the horror of it all.” 


THE DREAD COMES BACK. 


133 


A distraught brain takes up all sorts of fancies. 
It imagines what is not true ; unreasonable fears and 
strange fancies possess it.” 

I sat up on my couch ; a cold, sick feeling crept 
over my heart. 

“ Yes, in delirium,” I said, “ but now — now that 
I am well again ” 

“ For some time before your illness,” she went 
on, “ your nerves were in a state which made it 
difficult to separate fact from fancy. You must not 
allow the recollections of that time to take possession 
of you again.” 

I spoke in a sort of despair. “ Aren’t you going 
to believe what I say ? ” 

“ I shall never doubt your truthfulness, Hester, 
for truth is in your eyes, but, from your guardian’s 
account ” 

I broke in upon her. My guardian’s account ? 
My guardian ! What do you — what can you mean ? ” 

Mrs. Brabrook looked at me with her sternest 
look. You must keep yourself calm if you wish me 
to talk to you.” 

With all the force of my will I held my agitation 
in check. 

“ Go on,” I said. “ You need not be afraid. But 
I must know what you mean.” 

And then she told me the truth, the bitter, miser- 
able truth ; that a few days after my arrival, while 
I lay ill and unconscious, she had received a letter 
from Mrs. Pimpernel, saying that my mind had for 
some time been in a curiously unsettled state, that I 
had finally run away, that she and her son had 
thought it just possible I might have gone to Gran- 
bigh Hold, and that she begged Mrs. Brabrook to 
let her know if she had any news of me. The result 


134 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

of that letter and Mrs. Brabrook’s reply had been 
that Mrs. Pimpernel had come to Devonshire, had 
given her own plausible account of all that had hap- 
pened, had stood by my bedside and watched me as 
I lay raving in delirium. The sense of horror, of 
capture, of hopelessness, which came over me as I 
listened to Mrs. Brabrook’s words, was like a night- 
mare. I was calm indeed, but it was the kind of 
calm, I think, that a bird must feel when it knows 
that escape from the hawk is impossible. I was 
speechless for a time. 

“ So you are going to give me back to them 
again,” I said at last. “ When am I to go? ” 

She answered my question indirectly. “ Now 
that you are of age, you are free to do as you like. 
Nobody can force you to do anything or live any- 
where against your will.” 

I had of course known that this would be so, but 
till that moment I had not realised the truth and the 
real meaning of it. My spirits and my courage re- 
vived at the thought, but only to sink down again ; 
for how can I, I thought, friendless, however free, 
stand out against the desires of Jesse Pimpernel, 
escape from the snares he has laid for me, prove, 
while there is yet safety to be gained by the proving, 
that my fears have a real foundation ? I am alone ; 
nobody will believe what I say ; the odds are all 
against me. Thinking thus, and being still weak 
from recent illness, tears of despondency welled up 
into my eyes, and I feared that they would overflow. 
I did not want Mrs. Brabrook to see them, and I 
rose and went to my own room, to ponder alone 
over what it were best to do. At any rate there 
was still my side of the story to be told, and the 
telling of it, I resolved, should not be further delayed. 


CHAPTER XXL 


I TELL MY STORY. 

That evening I told my version of my tale to 
John Brabrook and his mother. At the beginning, 
the dread of incredulity sat upon my tongue and 
made my words come hesitatingly, but as memory 
recalled my experiences, the scenes through which 
I had passed became so vivid and real, that I forgot 
all save the horror and the pain of them, and told 
my story without thought of its effect upon my audi- 
ence. When I had finished, I came back to my sur- 
roundings and sought the faces of my listeners to 
see whether they believed in the reality of my tale. 
John Brabrook came across to me in answer to the 
question in my eyes. 

“ You poor little child,” he said, “ how much you 
have suffered ! ” 

Elizabeth Brabrook turned her still eyes upon 
me. It is a strange tale,” she said. 

“ Do you believe it ? ” I questioned. 

“ Yes and no,” she answered me. “ The facts, 
I am sure, or most of them, happened as you de- 
scril)e, but the meaning you put into them is false.” 

I turned from the mother to the son. “ John, 
you believe it — the meaning as well as the facts ? ” 

He hesitated, then sat down beside me and laid 
his hand on mine. At first his touch soothed me. 


135 


136 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


for I felt that whether he doubted or believed, he 
still would stand by me, take my story seriously, 
respect my fears. He was puzzled, I could see ; the 
emotion which had possessed me during my narra- 
tive had affected strongly his impressionable nature : 
but tlie improbability of my alarm being justified, the 
brain fever which had followed the events which I 
supposed to have happened, the anxiety which Mrs. 
Pimpernel had displayed as to my welfare, led him 
to believe that my imagination had put a sinister 
interpretation upon much which to anybody in a 
healthy frame of mind would have appeared ordi- 
nary and harmless. I guessed his doubts, guessed 
that he laid to the charge of over-wrought nerves 
and a too vivid imagination a proportion at least 
of the terror to which I had fallen a prey, and 
bitterness rose in me as my heart sank. 

Do you believe me ? ” I repeated presentlv. I 
saw that my question distressed him, and while he 
hesitated I drew my hand from his. “No, I see that 
you don’t,'’ I went on. “ I see that you think I 
was half mad or more than half mad, and that no 
importance is to be attached to anything I say. But 
if my imagination was affected then, it is affected 
still ; if I was possessed by delusions before my ill- 
ness, the delusions still remain. I cannot make you 
believe me, but you cannot destroy my convictions. 
You can refuse to have anything more to do with me 
of course.” 

Mrs. Brabrook took no notice of my words ; she 
was knitting and she did not even look up ; but John 
turned to me with reproach in every line of that 
mobile face of his. 

“ You are hard on me, Hester,” he said. “ You 
know I don’t think you mad or anything like mad. 


I TELL MY STORY. 


137 


and you know too, that even if I did, I should not 
refuse, as you say, to have anything more to do with 
you.” 

“ I don’t want people to have anything to do 
with me if they don’t believe me,” I returned. “ The 
best thing I can do is to go away at once.” 

“ The best thing you can do,” remarked Mrs. 
Brabrook, still without looking up, “ is to give up a 
useless discussion, and to keep to facts we are all 
sure of. I should like to know for my part if the 
iron box had anything to do with your idea of com- 
ing here.” 

“ The iron box? ” I exclaimed. “ What box? ” 

“You don’t know about it?” 

“ I never heard of it. What is it ? What does 
it mean ? ” 

“ I can tell you nothing,” said Mrs. Brabrook, 
“ as to its meaning. I did not even know of its 
existence till after my husband’s death. Then I 
found it in his safe with directions that it was to 
be handed over to you on the twelfth of January 
last, and if not claimed by you within a month after 
that date it was to be sent to Mr. Crosbitt.” 

“ Who is Mr. Crosbitt ? ” I asked. 

“ A solicitor, evidently,” answered John, “ from 
his address. Otherwise we know nothing about 
him.” 

“ What can it all mean ? ” I said. “ And could 
that be what Jesse ” I did not finish my sen- 

tence. I would keep my surmisings to myself, I re- 
solved, I would not subject myself to further evi- 
dences of incredulity. Somehow I felt but little 
anger against Mrs. Brabrook ; it was John who had 
so vexed me ; John who had given me a far greater 
measure of sympathy than his mother had done; 

10 


138 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


John who held the door open for me, when I went 
to bed, and whose eyes had a hurt look as they 
met mine. Then my heart melted, and I remem- 
bered how patient he had been with me all through 
my convalescence, and how that very evening, when 
I had flown out at him, he had answered with a 
gentleness which I knew did not come too easily to 
his quick, proud nature. 

You are good,” I whispered. “ Forgive me ! ” 
He did not answer, but a smile broke over his 
face, and I went to bed with the light of it in my 
heart. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE IRON BOX. 

The next morning I had a letter from Mrs. Sul- 
livan. I had written her a full account of what had 
happened, and this letter — her answer to mine — over- 
flowed with sympathy and kindness ; but she sug- 
gested nevertheless, that fancy might have played 
a considerable part in my experiences. That was 
what everybody thought; and on thinking over the 
course of events, I could not but see that there were 
grounds for such an opinion. Was everybody right 
then, and I the victim of delusion? I would fain 
have thought so, but I knew only too well that, im- 
probable as it might sound, my version of what had 
happened was the true one. I was standing by the 
fire, wondering how I could prove my case, when 
John came into the room. 

“ I think,” he said, “ that it is quite time you 
should take possession of your iron box.” 

Oh, yes,” I answered, my cheeks flushing with 
curiosity and excitement. I had indeed been long- 
ing to see what the box contained, but had not liked 
to ask to see it. 

John smiled at my eagerness. “ Come along 
then.” 

He led me upstairs, into a room looking sea- 
wards, though from the window you could not be- 
hold, but could only hear, the sea. A narrow 

139 


140 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

wooden bedstead faced the light ; there was but little 
other furniture in the room, which had somehow, 
though it was in perfect order, the air of being un- 
used. 

“ It was here,” said John, that my father died.” 

“ Do you remember him ? ” I asked. 

“ I remember his death.” 

It seemed to me that he shuddered as he spoke. 

You must have been quite a child then.” 

“ Seven years old.” And then, somewhat ab- 
ruptly: “Now for the box,” he said. He crossed 
the room to a cupboard close by the bed, unlocked 
the door, and opening it, showed me an iron safe, 
set firmly in the wall. “ Here my father kept all his 
papers, everything he considered valuable, and here 
my mother found your box.” John selected an- 
other key from the bunch in his hand, fitted it into 
the lock of the safe, half turned it, twisted a handle, 
gave the k^^ another turn, and pulled back the heavy 
metal; door. Inside were shelves containing pack- 
ages and bundles of papers, and on the lowest one 
stood an iron box, about a foot deep, a foot wide 
and nearly two feet long. There was a handle at 
either end, and from one of them, attached by a 
slender chain of steel, hung a key. John lifted the 
box from its place, the place where it had stood for at 
least nineteen years, and put it on the floor beside me. 
I read the inscription in ink, faded now, on dust 
covered paper, fastened to the box by seals at the 
four corners: For Hester Wynne. To be kept and 
guarded for her till the 12th January, 18 — . If not 
claimed by her within a month after date, to be delivered 
into the hands of Benjamin Crosbitt of the firm of Cros- 
bitt. Crouch and Crosbitt, jj Lincoln's Inn Fields, Lon- 
don. I looked up at John. 


THE IRON BOX. 


14I 


“ How strange ! To be kept and guarded ! 

“ You are just in time/’ he answered. To- 
morrow is the twelfth of February.” He loosened 
the steel chain and gave the key into my hand ; then 
he got up from the floor — for we were both kneeling 
— and made as though he would leave the room. 
But I called to him. 

“ You’re not going away?” 

He hesitated. “ Hadn’t you better open and ex- 
amine it alone ? ” 

I liked the delicacy of his feeling, but I most 
decidedly did not want him to leave me. 

“ No, no,” I said, “ certainly not. You must 
come,” I added imperiously. 

He came back then and again kneeled down be- 
side me, and I said that he was to turn the key, 
and I would open the box. I think it gave him a 
sort of amused pleasure, then and always, to yield 
to my caprices, and he did as I told him. We both 
held our breath as I lifted the lid, and we paused 
and looked at each other before I ventured to touch 
the contents of the box. It was full of cases, of 
leather or of velvet, and I guessed at once that they 
contained jewels ; and on the very top lay a letter, ad- 
dressed to James Brabrook, Esq., in a hand I did 
not know, and beneath it another for Benjamin 
Crosbitt. 

I turned to John. These,” I said in a whisper, 
are what Jesse wanted.” 

A look of eager interest flashed into his face, but 
he made no answer. 

I drew out one of the cases and opened it ; rubies 
flashed red before me : another, and diamonds 
sparkled like living light: a third, and pearls lay 
quiet in their purity. 


142 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


“ They must be worth I breathed. 

“ A fortune,” John said. “ I know something 
about stones.” 

“ What does it mean ? ” I asked filled with won- 
der. “ Why should your father leave to me ” 

“ There are letters,” he said. 

“ To be sure.” 

I took the letters from the floor where I had laid 
them down beside me. The one addressed to Mr. 
Crosbitt was securely fastened ; the seal of the other 
was broken. I handed the open one to John. 

“ It is to your father. It is for you to read it.” 

He drew the letter from its covering, and glanced 
at the signature. 

“ It is — it must be, from your mother,” he said. 
“We must read it together.” So we sat down side 
by side upon the polished boards and read the letter 
of twenty years ago. 

“ Dearest James ” (it ran, — “ I may call you so 
once again, because I know I am going to die, and 
as I shall never see you again, it can’t matter, and 
it is so many years since we met.” (Throughout, the 
letter was somewhat rambling and incoherent. I re- 
membered my mother’s portrait, and thought it was 
just such a letter as a woman with her face, a woman 
with a tender heart, a sentimental fancy and not too 
strong a will or clear a power of reason, might have 
written.) “ You know I have a little daughter. I 
should have liked you to see her, James, though she 
is not like me ; I should like you to be her guardian, 
and I think you would be, though I treated you 
badly I know. But you have forgiven me, I am 
sure, and you married (before I did, James, after 
all) and I hear your wife is very good and I am 


THE IRON BOX. 


143 


sure she would be kind to my little Hester, because 
she has a child of her own. But Clarissa wants to 
be Hester’s guardian, and she arranged it with the 
lawyer, and she said it would be so much the best 
way, and perhaps after all, you would not care to 
have my little girl. She will never treat anybody 
badly, I am sure ; she will take her own way and 
do as she chooses, and nobody will be able to per- 
suade her against her heart. I am sure of it, baby 
as she is, and very glad, for Clarissa meant it all 
for the best, I know, but I did love you, James, I 
did love you. But I should like there to be some 
link between you and Hester, I should like you some 
day to see her and know her, and so I want you to 
take charge of my jewels, all the heirlooms in her 
father’s family and mine, and all the presents poor 
Roger gave me, and keep them for her till she comes 
of age. Then she will come and claim them, and 
if not, you would have to give them to Mr. Crosbitt, 
my solicitor. Nobody knows you are to have the 
jewels. I did not tell Clarissa, but I am sure you 
will keep them if I ask you. And it might be a way 
of bringing our children together. How I should 
like, James, if my daughter and your son could 
be friends and more than friends. And she would 
not treat him badly as I treated you ; only now you 
will forgive me, I know,' and I dare say that by 
this time you do not care. Good-bye, good-bye. 

“ Susan Wynne.” 

When we came to the end of the letter, we let 
it, by mutual consent, as it seemed, flutter to the 
ground, and for a while neither of us spoke. 

That explains it then,” I said after a pause. 

“ Yes.” 


144 STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

“ They ha'd been lovers, I suppose.'' 

“ They must have been." 

I thought as much, somehow, when I read the 
names in the locket. Poor Father! " I added softly. 
I was wondering whether he had known or guessed 
that my mother’s love had never been wholly his. 
John echoed my words : 

“ Poor Father 1 " he said. 

“ But he — he didn’t go on caring. He married, 
you see, some years before she did." 

“ I wasn’t thinking of his marriage," said John. 

‘‘ Of what, then ? ” I ventured to ask. 

“ Of his death,” he answered. 

We looked through the rest of the jewels ; some 
were set in strange old-fashioned ways ; all were 
beautiful and costly. 

“ I can never wear them,” I said. 

Why not?" ' 

“ They are far too grand." 

John looked at me. “ You could wear them 
well, I think." 

It was still early in the morning when we went 
downstairs again, after restoring the box and its con- 
tents to their place in the safe, and I, at John’s 
request, had taken formal possession of the key ; and 
as the day was bright with sunshine, I thought I 
would take a little turn across the moor. So I 
started off, facing towards the sea. I had always 
wanted to get to the edge of the cliffs and look down 
upon those waves, whose booming ring against the 
rocks I could hear from Granbigh Hold, and now, 
I thought, I was strong enough to walk so far. Very 
cold the air was, but full of life and strength, and 
the buoyancy and the freshness of it made motion 
a joy. The sound of the waves grew stronger ; I 


THE IRON BOX. 


145 


paused to listen to it, and pausing found that I was 
tired. Close to me was a stone boulder, sheltered 
by a growth of furze, and I sat down to rest for a 
minute before going further. It was beautiful, the 
solitude and the peace and the far, far distance from 
London and its trouble and dread. Soon I should 
have to return there, have to see and speak with, 
perhaps, the people I so feared. But I should be 
protected now, and in any case, there was no need 
to think of anything fearful or troubling to-day. 
Yet I could not hold my thoughts back from Lon- 
don. I thought of Beta — dear Beta! how I longed 
to know what she was doing, how things were going 
with her! and how much I should like to see her 
again ! And from Beta my thoughts went to my 
guardian, and from my guardian to her son; and 
thinking of him, the old sense of fear, of instinctive 
warning dread stole over me once more. “ What a 
fool I am,” I said to myself, “ to be afraid when I 
am so far away from him ! ” Then I began to 
wrestle with myself. “ Get up and walk on towards 
the sea,” urged common sense, “ and don’t think 
of him any more.” “ Turn homewards,” counselled 
the dread ; and while I wavered between the two, 
close behind me a voice spoke. 

“ Well, little Hester, so I have found you at last,” 
it said ; and I knew that it was not for nothing the 
sense of dread had stolen over me, and that when I 
turned, my eyes would meet the eyes of Jesse 
Pimpernel. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


ON THE MOOR. 

That meeting took place I know not after how 
long, but at last I turned my head — it may have been 
after two seconds or two minutes — and faced the 
look which I knew would be in Jesse’s eyes a mix- 
ture of mockery and triumph. He came forward 
and sat down by my side. 

“ Are you pleased to see me ? ” he asked. 

I rose to my feet. “ No,” I answered, “ I am 
not, and you know I am not.” 

“ Absence sometimes makes the heart grow 
fonder, you know.” 

“ Why have you come? ” 

“ To see you, little Hester. I wanted very much 
to see you.” 

I made no answer but moved on, back towards 
Granbigh Hold. He followed me and put his hand 
within my arm. I stopped short. 

“ Leave go,” I said. 

He hesitated, then prudence or something in my 
face counselled him to obey. I walked on again, 
and he paced by my side. 

'' I suppose you think,” he said, that I might 
have waited to see you till you come up to London 
next week ? ” 

“ I should have thought that would be time 
enough, certainly,” I answered. 

146 


ON THE MOOR. 


147 

“ You wouldn’t, if you knew how I have missed 
you.” 

The speech I thought required no answer, and 
I made none. Presently : 

“ You haven’t asked me,” he said, “ how we man- 
aged to trace you, what made mother write to see 
if you were at Granbigh Hold.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. I was indeed very 
anxious to know, but I would not show him my 
curiosity. 

“ It was by inference,” he went on, “ by putting 
two and two together.” Then as I did not speak: 
“ I suppose you opened that locket ? ” he asked. 

“ Why should you suppose so ? ” 

“ Because otherwise you could not have known 
the Brabrooks’ address.” 

“ How did you know it contained the Brabrooks’ 
address ? ” 

“ Inference again, by calculating that two and 
two make four.” 

I puzzled over his answer in silence and he 
waited a minute before speaking again. 

“ It was very absurd, your running away,” he 
said then. “ You caused a great deal of trouble, 
anxiety and talk, and all for a ridiculous bugbear 
you had conjured up out of the Lord knows what.” 

“ It is easy enough to talk of bugbears,” I re- 
joined, but I don’t know that even you can prove 
everything that happened to be mere imagination.” 

“ Pooh ! ” he ejaculated contemptuously ; “ you 
mix up fact and fancy, little Hester, in a most dis- 
tressing way.” 

“ Separate them,” I said. 

Very well ; I will. You began then by fancying 
that you saw and heard ghosts; fancying, I say, 


148 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


though I’m not at all sure that you haven’t the 
faculty of perceiving the supernatural; I always said 
you had seeing eyes, you know. Then, for some 
reason or other — on account of my chaff, I suppose — 
you took it into your head that I wanted to get 
possession of that ridiculous locket of yours — a thing 
of absolutely no value. I tried at first to get you to 
take it off because I thought the whole thing absurd, 
and then when I saw that the idea of continuing to 
wear it was becoming a regular idee fixe with you, 
a sort of monomania, a thing which possessed you 
night and day ” 

I broke in upon him. “ How can you ? ” I ex- 
claimed, “ how can you possibly dare to assert any- 
thing of the kind? You know perfectly well that I 
rarely thought about the locket at all, until I saw 
that you wanted to get possession of it.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “ Still the idea of 
robbery with violence ! ” he sneered. 

“ Go on,” I said, “ with your explanation.” 

Well, when I saw that the thing was becoming 
a monomania with you, I consulted with my 
mother ” 

'‘One Sunday afternoon,” I could not forbear put- 
ting in. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said abruptly ; evidently 
he had not quite caught my words. Prudence came 
to my aid and I did not repeat them. 

“ Go on,” was all I said. “ You consulted with 
your mother, you were saying.” 

“ As to what it was best to do. The locket was 
to come off in any case when you came of age ; it 
seemed better to forestall that part of your mother’s 
wishes, and to remove it before your monomania 
should become utterly unconquerable. You refused 


ON THE MOOR. 


149 


to take it off willingly; the only way was to remove 
it with as little excitement and distress to yourself 
as possible.” 

“ Is that your story ? ” said 1. 

That is the truth. You began with fancies, you 
jumbled up your fancies with facts, you finally ran 
away because my mother came to your bedside, after 
you had gone to bed in a state of delirious excite- 
ment, to see if all was well with you.” 

“ You do not deny then, that you tried and that 
she tried, to get possession of the locket.” 

“ I deny no facts.” 

“ Not even that you followed me to Derbyshire 
and escaped through the window like a common 
thief?” 

“ That was not I,” he said coolly. 

“ Mrs. Loveday saw you too.” 

“ Saw somebody — whom she did not in the least 
recognise.” 

We walked on a few paces in silence. I was 
thinking so deeply that the sound of his voice made 
me jump. 

“ Hester,” he said in quite a different tone from 
that he had used hitherto, “ Hester, all this is not 
what I came to say to you. It is something quite 
different I meant and want to say.” 

He stopped and I stopped too, hardly knowing 
why, and again we faced one another. I remember 
so well the feel of those moments. A little knoll 
close by, blocked out the view of Granbigh Hold 
in the distance ; all around, the moor, snow covered, 
stretched away ; and still from the cliffs was borne 
the booming of the sea. A lonely scene it was, win- 
try and desolate, for thick soft clouds blown inland 
from the ocean by a westerly wind had hidden the 


150 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

face of the sun and made the outlook bleak. I felt 
the chill of the day sink into my spirit as I faced 
Jesse Pimpernel; and I wondered what it could be 
that he had come to tell me. 

“ I have something to say to you,” Jesse went 
on, different from anything I have said to you yet. 
I have appeared to mock at your fears, to have no 
sympathy with you, no understanding of your 
trouble. Believe me, Hester, it is not so. I have 
acted and spoken as I have done, thinking to laugh 
or persuade you out of your fears. But all the time 
my heart has bled for you. If you would have 
trusted me, confided in me, it might all have been so 
different.” 

He paused, but I uttered no word. My eyes 
were on his, and I had a sort of presentiment of 
what he was about to say. 

“ It might have been so different ; and now it 
shall be ; for you need fear nothing, be distressed at 
nothing, if you will only give me hope. Hester, all 
this time I have tried to do what I thought best 
for you, for all the while you have been dear and 
more than dear to me. Has it never occurred 
to you, have you not felt and known that I loved 
you?” 

In spite of my presentiment, his words for the 
moment took my breath away, and I think I gasped 
— I certainly did not and could not speak — as I 
looked at him. 

“ Yes, it’s true,” he said, “ and I have come all 
this way to ask you to be my wife.” 

Love me ! ” then I said. “ Why you know 
quite well that you hate me.” 

He shook his head. How blind you are ! ” 

“ I don’t know what your motives are,” I went on. 


ON THE MOOR. 


151 

“ I suppose you have motives, though I cannot con- 
ceive what they can be.” 

“ It is the same old motive,” he said, “ that from 
the beginning of the world has made a man ask a 
woman to be his wife.” 

Still I stood and looked at him ; it gave me a 
sort of horror that he should pretend to care for 
me ; his words sounded hateful, and his face, his 
whole personality created in me a sense of loathing ; 
yet I could not turn my eyes away. 

“ Your answer,” he said presently. 

Do you really mean that you want an answer? ” 

“ Yes, I want an answer.” 

*‘Then no,” I said, “a hundred thousand times no.” 

Is that final ? Can you give me no hope of 
change ? ” 

“ No,” I repeated, “ no, and for ever no.” 

He gave that slow smile of his. “ It were better 
for you, little Hester,” he said in a sort of creeping 
voice, “ if it had been yes.” 

We were not far, by this time, from the Hold, and 
presently I stopped and said : “ Good-bye.” 

No,” he answered. “ I am coming with you.” 

“ But you don’t know my friends,” I protested. 

I know all about them, and you can introduce 
me. It would look very odd for me to be in the 
neighbourhood and not to call.” 

“ I don’t think so at all,” I persisted. 

In truth I was very unwilling, besides being 
anxious to be rid of his presence, that he should hold 
any communication with the Granbigh Hold house- 
hold, and would have given much to prevent his 
coming with me. But I could not help myself; 
Jesse’s plans were not easily thwarted, and I was 
obliged to fall in with them. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE HISTORY OF THE JEWELS. 

Jesse Pimpernel stayed to lunch. I could see 
that from the very first he and John did not like 
each other, and I was glad; for the one thing that 
I could not stand, I felt, was that they should be 
friends. An incident which occurred at lunch 
strengthened my impression of the covert antago- 
nism between them. There was as a rule no wine at 
the meals at Granbigh Hold ; neither John nor his 
mother ever touched it, the latter told me ; and the 
daily glass of port which the doctor had ordered 
for me during my convalescence, was always brought 
to me, accompanied by a particular kind of sponge 
cake for which Deborah was famous, at eleven 
o’clock. But to-day both sherry and claret stood in 
old cut glass decanters on the table. Jesse was re- 
quested to help himself, and having filled his glass 
he passed the wine on towards his host. But John 
pushed the decanter away from him. 

'' No, thank you,” he said. 

“ Don’t you take wine in the middle of the day? ” 
asked Jesse. 

I never take it.” 

Indeed ! Principles or gout ? ” 

“ I am a teetotaller,” John answered, and then 
immediately began to speak of something else. 

152 


THE HISTORY OF THE JEWELS. 


153 


I don’t know how, but somehow I knew that 
this subject of wine-taking was in some way disagree- 
able or painful to him, and I did my best to second 
his efforts to get away from it; but Jesse, for one 
reason or another, — perhaps because, as I fancied, 
he guessed that John wished to avoid it — resumed 
it again and again. I saw that his persistency an- 
gered John, whose spirit, to be sure, was none of 
the meekest, and I saw too that Jesse was pleased 
to irritate him; and though, at the time, want of 
knowledge hid from me the full significance of what 
passed, I was conscious of a disturbed atmosphere 
and of a growing antipathy between host and guest. 
I was glad of the antipathy, as I have said, though 
I should have been less glad and more anxious had 
I been aware that on Jesse’s side it was made strong 
by a sense of rivalry. But so it was, though I did 
not realise it till later on ; with his usual quickness, 
Jesse had seen at once how things were between 
John and me ; before we were ourselves positively 
conscious of our feelings towards each other, he 
had discerned their character; and the discovery, by 
showing him a further obstacle in the path he had 
marked out for himself, turned the negative antago- 
nism which could not fail to exist between his own 
nature and John’s into active enmity. 

After luncheon he set himself to talk to Mrs. 
Brabrook, recounting to her what he called the his- 
tory of the jewels. It was a curious story and con- 
firmed, curiously, I thought, my own ideas and sus- 
picions. Little Hester’s mother, he said, with a 
meaning glance at me, had evidently been somewhat 
eccentric, and had chosen an eccentric manner of 
safeguarding her jewels, till her daughter should 
be of an age to wear them. Not that there was any- 

II 


154 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

thing strange in her confiding them to the care of 
her old friend, Mr. Brabrook, but that nobody else 
should be allowed to know who had the keeping 
of them, seemed decidedly peculiar. “ She left a 
letter for my mother,” Jesse went on, “ telling her 
that the name and address of the person who had 
charge of the jewels was contained in the locket 
which Hester wore at her throat, but that the locket, 
the key of which she gave into my mother’s care, 
was not to be opened till Hester came of age. The 
reason for so much mystery is difficult to imagine,” 
he ended up. 

I thought of the conversation I had overheard 
on that Sunday afternoon, and of the letter which 
Jesse had then begun to read aloud. 

“ She was afraid that your mother would disap- 
prove of her leaving the jewels with Mr. Brabrook,” 
I said. 

“ What makes you think so ? ” he asked quickly. 

Now I did not want Jesse to know that I had 
assisted at the interview between him and his 
mother; instinct warned me that it were better to 
hide from him what I had overheard; and I hesi- 
tated, at a loss how to reply. 

John came to my rescue. “ The letter which was 
found with the jewels rather gave that impression,” 
he said. 

“ Yes,” I agreed, and Jesse, after another sharp 
glance, went on with his story. 

“ Well,” he said, “ in spite of all the caution, my 
mother knew of course that there were but one or 
two people in whose care Mrs. Wynne would have 
left the jewels, and when she discovered that during 
her visit to Hester’s bedside on the night when the 
delirium first declared itself ” 


THE HISTORY OF THE JEWELS. 


155 


I was not delirious/’ I broke in. 

“ Well, well,” he said in a soothing sort of way 
which irritated me profoundly, “ on the night when 
we first thought you seriously ill, the night before 
you ran away. When she discovered, as I said, that 
she must have dropped the key of the locket, — she 
always wore it on a chain inside her dress — it oc- 
curred to me that our little runaway had found it, 
had opened the locket, and had rushed of¥ to try 
and find the person whose name it contained. It 
was just the sort of thing that a person in the first 
stage of brain fever might be expected to do, and 
it only remained then to write to the one or two 
people who could possibly have been selected to 
take charge of Mrs. Wynne’s jewels. So you see,” 
he ended, turning to me with the smile I hated, “ it 
was not so wonderful after all, that we were able to 
trace you.” 

“ Not wonderful at all,” I agreed. 

“Are the jewels very beautiful?” he asked. 

“ I don’t understand jewellery,” I answered casu- 
ally. “ They are old-fashioned, a good many of 
them.” 

“ I should like to have seen them,” he said. 

I said nothing; I did not want to show him the 
jewels ; and John said nothing. But his mother, 
after a somewhat awkward pause, said in a voice 
which meant rebuke : 

“ Hester will be glad to show them to you.” 

Her speech left’ me no alternative ; I could be 
rude to Jesse, but I could not be rude to Mrs. Bra- 
brook ; and there was nothing for it but to show him 
what I particularly did not want him to see. I re- 
member standing in that upper room watching him 
as he opened case after case (how I hated to see 


156 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

his hands amongst them !), his face inscrutable, only 
his quick movements showing to me, who had 
learned to observe him accurately, the eagerness 
with which he studied the stones. 

As he went downstairs again, I managed to linger 
behind a minute with John. 

“ How do you like him ? ” I whispered. 

John shook his head. 

“ I’m so glad,” I said. “ I knew you couldn’t.” 

I had no further opportunity then of speaking 
to him, for he had offered to drive Jesse back to 
Cloverdale in time to catch the afternoon train, and 
the gig was even now waiting at the door. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


I PLAY THE SPY. 

Mrs. Brabrook had been giving me a lecture 
on the evil of judging others and allowing oneself 
to be influenced by suspicions. 

“ But you can’t wait for certainties,” I had pro- 
tested. 

When it comes to the kind of fear that you 
have allowed to take possession of you,” she an- 
swered, “ it would be wrong to act upon anything 
but certainty.” 

You would wait to be murdered then, before 
you decided that a person wanted to kill you.” 

“ You are foolish, Hester, in the way you talk, 
exaggerated and melodramatic. Extraordinary 
things of the kind you imagine don’t happen in 
ordinary lives.” 

“ But how do you know that your life is always 
going to be ordinary?” I asked. “Things do hap- 
pen in the world, and why not to oneself as well as 
to another ? ” 

“ When God sends trials, time enough to meet 
them,” she replied. 

“ Could you meet things,” I asked, “ terrible 
things, calmly, thinking God had sent them ? ” 

“ I have met,” she said, “ some terrible things, 
and God gave me strength and calm.” 


157 


158 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ It seems to me more likely,” I said, “ that God 
only sends the good, and that we’ve got to fight and 
struggle with all our might against evil.” 

” Faith,” she answered, “ is our best and safest 
weapon.” 

After that we had sunk into silence, and I pon- 
dered over what she had said and all that had taken 
place that day. The most marvellous thing of all 
was Jesse’s offer of marriage, and the more I thought 
of it, the more uneasy I felt, for in spite of all that 
Mrs. Brabrook had said, my suspicions were still 
alive, and I could not credit him with a pure motive. 
I was wondering whether I should tell John about it 
(somehow I never thought of telling his mother) 
when Mrs. Brabrook spoke again. 

“ John will have a cold drive home,” she said. 

“ Yes.” 

I was sitting by the wide old-fashioned fireplace 
and was supposed to be working; but I had let my 
work fall into my lap, and I gazed out of the window 
as I listened for signs of John’s coming. The win- 
dow showed me a patch of the garden where blades 
of green began to appear through the melting snow, 
a portion of the old high wall, and above it a brown- 
ish desolate sky, which went well with the foreboding 
in my heart. For, reader, foreboding was growing 
within me, and my fears were as much for John as 
for myself ; something told me that danger or distress 
of some kind was about him, and it was as if a great 
weight had been lifted from me when I heard at last 
the sound of wheels. 

I rose to my feet and went quickly towards the 
door. 

‘'Where are you going?” asked Mrs. Bra- 
brook. 


I PLAY THE SPY. 


159 

“ I think I hear John coming,” I answered. “ I 
was going to the yard to see.” 

“You are not strong enough yet to go rushing 
out into the cold.” 

Something in her tone made me feel that she 
thought me over bold in my anxiety over her son’s 
return, and I sank back into my seat, unable to reply 
and feeling hot all over. 

“ Don’t look like a beaten dog, child,” said Mrs. 
Brabrook in a voice which I had learned to know was 
not meant to be unkindly. 

“ I was afraid something had happened,” I fal- 
tered, “ and now I do not hear the wheels any more.” 

“ You must fight against unreasonable fears,” 
said Mrs. Brabrook. “ But stay you by the fire. I 
will go and see if he is coming.” 

Her own face, I thought, as she rose and left the 
room, was not quite free from anxiety, but the dusk 
was gathering, and I could not see her plainly. By- 
and-bye I heard footsteps and voices approaching. 
John had returned safely then. I had been longing 
for his return, but somehow now, when I was sure of 
it, the feeling which that speech of his mother had 
created in me a little while since gave me a sudden 
shrinking from meeting him. I thought of leaving 
the room, but I was too late, and without perceiving 
the childishness of my behaviour, I shrank back 
behind the tall old settle near the fireplace, and sit- 
ting down on the floor was hidden from view. 

“ Where’s Hester? ” John said as he came in. 

“ I left her here,” his mother answered. “ She 
must have gone upstairs.” 

Now no sooner had I hidden myself than I re- 
flected how foolish my conduct would appear, and 
at John’s words I got up and advanced round the 


l6o the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

curved back of the settle, meaning to show myself. 
But his mother’s reply proved that I was still unseen, 
and I then realised that I was in the deep shadow 
which hung between the settle and the wall. I 
should at once have said : “ I am here,” but I hesi- 
tated before saying it, and in that moment of hesi- 
tation my chance was lost for I was afraid afterwards 
to show myself ; and thus, once again, I was present 
at an interview between a mother and a son without 
my presence being suspected. 

The waning day still partly lighted the room, and 
the glow from the fire fell upon John’s face and 
showed me that he was very pale. His mother 
stood close beside him and looked up into his eyes. 

“ Well?” she said. 

Well?” he answered. 

You’ve been a long time gone, John.” 

We were half an hour too soon.” 

“ And you waited ? ” 

“ Yes, I had to wait — at the inn.” 

She looked up at him without speaking, but I saw 
the question in her face. 

He smiled down at her. “ It’s all right.” 

There was a pause. Mrs. Brabrook went back 
to her chair, a tall and stiff one it was, and John stood 
on the same spot where he had halted on first com- 
ing in, his eyes upon the fire. What did he see 
there, to give them so sad a look ? 

‘‘ Did you mind much ? ” Mrs. Brabrook asked. 

“ It would be cowardly and absurd to mind.” 

''Was it hard? — though God’s strength, I know, 
was with you.” 

" It was not so very hard, but ” He broke 

off. 

As I stood and watched him I saw his chest heave. 


I PLAY THE SPY. l6i 

I saw his curved lips quiver, I saw the sadness deepen 
in his eyes, and I longed — how I longed, to come 
forth and comfort him, though I knew not, indeed, 
wherein his sorrow lay, or whence it sprang. Then, 
suddenly, he turned, and bowed himself, and, like a 
little child, knelt at his mother’s knees. 

“ Mother, I have learned to-day that the evil is 
strong within me. Mother, it is hard to give up all 
that makes manhood most worth ; love and ” 

“ John, John ! ” The voice was stern and full 
of rebuke ; but I could see Elizabeth Brabrook’s face, 
and in it was a tenderness such as I had not dreamed 
could waken there. “ Have you no trust, no faith? 
Don’t you know that He who sends the temptation 
will also make a way of escape, that ye may be 
able to bear it? ” 

“ It may be ” 

Again the voice interrupted him. “May? Nay, 
it will” 

He rose to his feet again, and again his eyes were 
on the fire; it seemed to me that he read his future 
there. 

“ It may be that I shall go right through my life 
without once giving way, without even once making 
a beast or a devil of myself. But if I do — even if I 
could run the risk of bringing such suffering as you 
have suffered upon — upon any woman, how could I 
dare to hand down the heritage of struggle and of 
craving that was handed down to me ? ” He turned 
once more his face to his mother’s face. “ I have 
decided to-day that love and wife and children are 
not for me.” 

“ You are wrong.” Elizabeth Brabrook rose and 
came close to him. “ God, if you keep His laws, 
will keep both you and your children from the evil. 


i62 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


To doubt it, to act as if you doubted, is to doubt that 
He is almighty; is sin, not righteousness. Your 
father sinned without repentance, and you are pun- 
ished according to the law ; for I, the Lord thy God, 
it is written, am a jealous God, and visit the sins of 
the fathers upon the children.” 

“ Unto the third and fourth generation,” John 
added. 

“ Aye,” she went on, “ of them that hate me, but 
show mercy unto thousands, the promise goes on, of 
them that love me and keep my commandments. 
Have I not tried to keep those commandments all 
my life ? Have I not brought you up to keep them ? 
and shall we fear that your children and my grand- 
children will be doomed to go astray ? ” 

He did not speak to her at once; then, very 
gently : 

“ Mother,” he said, “ you don’t know what it 
feels like.” 

“ I know,” she answered, “ what it is to trust in 
the Lord.” 

He sighed, a little wearily, as it seemed to me. 

Well, there is no need to speak more of this just 
now! He turned away and went out of the room, 
and his mother stood where he had left her, and 
gazed as he had gazed, into the fire. 

“ God, preserve him, and give him faith ! ” she 
said, and clasped her hands together. And then I 
think her thoughts must have gone back a long, long 
way, for just before she left the room, she spoke 
again, and : “ Poor little, lad ! ” was what she said. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


VISIONS. 

I CREPT forth from my hiding-place covered with 
self-reproach, and bewilderment, filled with pity, 
overwhelmed by a sense of sickening pain. What 
terrible secret had I overheard? and how could I 
ever dare to look again into the faces of John and 
his mother, conscious that as an eavesdropper I had 
become possessed of a confidence which was not 
meant for my ears? But even my angry disgust at 
my own conduct was second to the pity and the pain 
which that conduct had brought me. I did not so 
much reasonably infer as intuitively gather what the 
trouble was which lay so heavily on John’s spirit and 
his life; and guessing what it was, I knew that the 
promptings of inherited craving in a nature so noble, 
with instincts so refined, and tastes so fastidious as 
his, must be a source of bitterness and anguish, which 
a lower organisation would not be capable of and 
could not understand. And then through it all ran 
the indefinite pain, as from a heavy blow. I suffered 
selfishly, hardly knowing why, knowing only that 
those words, “ I have decided to-day that love and 
wife and children are not for me,” had shattered 
in some way the brightness and the hope of life. As 
one grows older one becomes familiar with the causes 
and effects of pain ; one knows whence it comes, and 

163 


164 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

why, and recognises the sensations which it brings : 
but in youth it is strange ; one fights against it ; and 
bewilderment takes part in the struggle against ac- 
cepting it for what it is. So I hardly knew and 
would not analyse the cause of my suffering ; I felt 
only that I wanted to be alone, and the longing came, 
as always has been the way with me in trouble, to 
get outside, under the great arch of the sky, and feel 
the freedom of space and the mute sympathy of in- 
animate speechless things. I stole upstairs to my 
room and found my cloak, and pulling the hood of 
it over my head, went noiselessly out into the walled 
garden. The outside world was gray ; the ebbing 
twilight seemed as though it had been caught by 
the mist and was held imprisoned after day had 
really gone ; and by aid of its slender strength, my 
eyes were able to distinguish the outlines of familiar 
things, waiting like ghosts of their veritable selves 
till night should bring to them the darkness of the 
grave. Slowly I sauntered round the flagged paths, 
taking care to walk softly, so that my steps should 
make no sound which could be heard from within. 
There was a little old stone seat, set in the shelter of 
the wall and flanked by evergreens, and here, after 
a while, I sat down and cuddling myself up in my 
warm cloak, passed again through the scene which 
I had just witnessed. Presently, through the un- 
curtained window, I saw Barbara, one of the maids, 
enter the drawing-room with a lamp, and the room 
was plain to me as a stage picture. I could see it 
all, the dark, dignified furniture, the panelled walls, 
the wide, open fireplace, the settle in whose shadow 
I had lately stood, and the great jar of holly with 
berries showing bright against the sombre back- 
ground. 


VISIONS. 


165 


As I sat there perplexed and miserable, my 
thoughts became gradually vaguer and more vague, 
and the dim outside world grew dimmer. My eyes 
were fixed upon the bright light in the room, and 
gradually all the room except the light faded away 
from me ; and at last the light itself faded, and be- 
fore my eyes was only a gray mist, blank and thick. 
Then all at once the mist parted, leaving a clear 
space, and in the space was a picture. Once or twice 
before, I had been aware of some consciousness above 
or below, at any rate outside the realm of, the ordi- 
nary consciousness of daily life, and I suppose that 
Jesse suspected in me something of the kind; but 
that evening in the garden at Granbigh Hold was 
the first occasion on which I ever had vision clear 
and complete. For the picture was very clear. I 
saw the room in which John and I had opened and 
examined the box of jewels. It was daylight, with 
the dusk beginning to gather, and across the floor 
lay a shaft of evening sunshine. In the narrow bed 
a man was lying, struggling, as it seemed, in the 
grasp of two others who bent over him, and close up 
by the pillow stood a woman with her back towards 
me. The sunlight reached right to the corner of 
the room, and in the golden haze of it a little boy 
was standing, shrinking in attitude, and with a 
frightened, bewildered face. I knew the face ; child- 
ish and undeveloped though they were, I recognised 
the features ; the child was John Brabrook. The 
picture remained only a moment or two, then faded, 
and the mist closed over it again. Several times 
since in the course of my life has a similar experience 
befallen me, and I have often thought that in such 
wise will be the coming of death. The world will 
grow dimmer and dimmer till it fades altogether 


l66 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

away, and in the mist that hides it, pictures may 
show themselves ; of the past, it may be, or of loved 
ones far away; or the blankness may endure, till 
one wakes into consciousness again : only then the 
consciousness will not be of this world, but another, 
on the further side of that gray veil which hangs 
between the two. 

I was drawn back into consciousness now by the 
sound of a voice calling. “ Hester ! ” it called, “ are 
you outside ? Where are you ? Hester ! Hester ! 

I felt at first all confused and strange. Where 
was I ? and what had happened ? Then I remem- 
bered ; the waiting for John, and the look of the sky 
and the garden and the old stone wall as I had seen 
them through the window ; his entrance and the 
scene which followed it ; and then my coming out 
into the garden and falling asleep, as I supposed, 
on that cold seat. As my senses came back to me, 
I roused myself to answer the call. 

“ I am here,” I said, “ in the garden.” 

John came to me across the grass. It was all 
but dark now, and I could barely see him till he was 
quite close. 

“ Hester, what madness is this? Outside at such 
an hour and in such weather ! ” 

“ I came out just for a turn, and I sat down on 
this seat for a minute, and I saw Barbara bring the 
light into the drawing-room, and then — and then I 
think I must have gone to sleep.” 

“ Oh, Hester, and when you are not really well 
yet ! How long, pray, have you been asleep ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I couldn’t tell at all. I had a 
dream — a vision. So strange, it was ! ” 

“ Was it? Tell me.” 

“ No,” I said, I will not tell you now.” 


VISIONS. 167 

“ Well, you must come in now. How cold your 
hands are ! ” 

“ Let us walk up and down for a minute or two, 
till I get warm again.” 

We walked, side by side, and in silence; I, guilty 
in conscience, troubled and sorrowful, knowing not 
whether to confess what I had overheard, or whether 
it were better to hide from John my knowledge of 
a secret which surely he had not meant me to know ; 
he, pacing beside me, bearing as I knew, a burden 
heavy to bear, and which weighed on him, I felt, very 
hardly then. But at last I spoke, and I stopped as 
I uttered the words, and said them in a whisper. 

“ John, did you hear anything? ” 

He answered by another question : “ What do 
you mean ? ” 

“ There is somebody about,” I said. 

Where ? ” he asked. “ What do you mean, 
Hester? ” 

“ I am sure of it, there is somebody.” 

“ In the garden do you mean ? ” 

“ I don’t know — or outside.” 

We were near the postern gate. In a couple of 
rapid strides John reached it and pulled aside the 
panel which covered the grille; and I, following 
close behind him, saw for an instant, through the 
opening, the gleam of a pair of eyes. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


THE MAN AT THE GATE. 

I AM quite sure that if John had been less prompt, 
and the owner of those eyes had escaped into the 
misty darkness which covered the moor, I might 
have supposed that it was Jesse Pimpernel who had 
been standing without the gate, so much did the 
thought of him weigh upon my mind at that time 
and colour my apprehensions ; but the man upon 
whom John laid quick hands was entirely unknown 
to both of us. He was shabbily dressed ; that much 
I was able to discern in the all but darkness, and 
his manner of speech showed him to be unedu- 
cated. 

What are you doing, skulking about at this 
hour?” John asked. 

“ I wasn’t skulking. I was trying to open this 
gate,” the man answered. 

“Wdl, what do you want?” 

'' I want to see the master of the house.” 

“ I am the master of the house,” John answered. 
“ Well?” 

“ You’ve got a visitor stopping, I hear.” 

I was about to speak, when John laid his hand 
upon my arm. 

“ Perhaps I have,” he said. “ And then ? ” 

“ It’s with the visitor my business is.” 

i68 


THE MAN AT THE GATE. 


169 

Curiosity was strong within me and I longed to 
ask what the business might be; but John did not 
give me time to speak. 

“ You must tell me what it is about,” he said. 

That I can’t do,” replied the man doggedly ; 
“ there’s only one person’s got to know that, and I’ve 
got to see that person alone.” 

I pulled John’s coat sleeve. “ Oh, John, do let 
me ! ” I whispered. He took no notice of me. 

Then I’m afraid it’s no use saying any more,” 
he said. “ No visitor of mine sees strange people 
who cannot say what they want at this hour of the 
night. You’d better think it over and come back 
in the morning if you’ve really got anything to say.” 

The man turned away without speaking. 

“ You go right away mind,” John said; then, to 
me : “ Go in, Hester. I’ll be back presently. I must 
see that he really goes.” 

Oh, let me stay,” I pleaded. I’m afraid.” 

I meant that I was afraid for him, though to be 
sure I was not much protection, but he thought that 
I was frightened to go back to the house alone, and 
so yielded to my entreaty. 

'' Very well,” he said, “ come along then ! ” 

We followed the man some distance across the 
moor. He went fairly slowly, and there was no 
difficulty in keeping up with him. By-and-bye John 
stopped. 

“ There’s no use in going any further,” he said. 

If we were to watch him all the way to Clover- 
dale, we couldn’t prevent him turning and coming ^ 
back when we were gone.” 

I wonder what he wants,” I said. “ I wish you 
had let me ask. I can’t imagine what he can pos- 
sil?ly have to do with me.” 

12 


lyo the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ I don’t believe his story a bit,” John answered. 

He probably invented it to account for his being 
where he was. Most likely he’s a tramp of some 
kind, on the look-out for what he can pick up.” 

“ Do you think he’s a thief? Oh, John, the 
jewels ! ” 

‘‘ Nobody knows about the jewels, except you 
and mother and myself.” 

“ And Jesse,” I added. 

“ That is not the emissary he would choose,” 
John declared with a laugh, “ even if he were as bad 
as you think him.” 

“ But you didn’t like him? ” 

“ No, I didn’t like him ; and for that very reason, 
I decline to suspect him without good grounds.” 

“ Yet you do suspect him,” I thought to myself. 
“ In spite of yourself you share some of my sus- 
picions. Your nature could not help distrusting 
his.” 

But I kept my thoughts to myself, and we walked 
back the rest of the way in silence. I was in a 
curious mood: that trouble of John’s and my own 
consciousness of eavesdropping lay heavy upon me, 
and the adventure with the strange man could not 
fail to make me uneasy : yet transcending and over- 
whelming all that caused me pain and anxiety, was 
the sense that for a little while, at any rate, John 
and I were alone together in a world of our own. 
The world was one of mist and darkness, and would 
not endure, I knew, beyond the walls of Granbigh 
Hold, but while it lasted I resolved to enjoy its sweet- 
ness to the uttermost ; so I turned deliberately from 
my woman’s habit of shadowing the present by dread 
of the future, and tasted only the actual content of 
the moment. That walk lives in my memory — the 


THE MAN AT THE GATE. 


171 

hush and the strangeness and the sense of stolen 
happiness of it; a patch of calm and brightness in 
a time of doubt and suffering and dread. 

It seemed as if John had been right as to the 
character of the watcher at the gate ; for the man did 
not return with the morning, and during the few 
days which remained before our departure for Lon- 
don, we saw no more of him. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


MY mother’s will. 

Mr. Crosbitt, the solicitor, was a small man, 
spare and neat. I remember very well, the way he 
looked at me that day in February, when I went 
into his office in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 

“ You ran away from your guardian. Miss 
Wynne,” he said. 

“ Yes,” I answered, I did.” 

“ May I ask your reasons. You put Mrs. Pim- 
pernel to a great deal of anxiety and distress, you 
know.” 

“ I had reasons,” I replied. “ I was very un- 
happy, and I saw no other means of getting away.” 

“ You should have come to me for advice.” 

“ But I didn’t even know of your existence.” 

“ Your guardian never mentioned me to you?” 

“ Never.” 

He was silent a moment, then : You don’t care 
to tell me your reasons for running away. Miss 
Wynne,” he said. 

“ Haven’t I told you ? ” 

He smiled. “ Hardly.” 

“ I would tell you,” I said, I would indeed ; 
but — well very likely you would not think them 
sufficient, and — and on the whole, I would rather 
not.” 


172 


MY MOTHER'S WILL. 


173 


I had indeed, after much consultation with John, 
and by his advice, determined to ignore what had 
taken place during those weeks before my flight. I 
had, after all, little or nothing to prove my fears 
correct, and the making or insinuating of accusa- 
tions which I could not substantiate might only 
prejudice my position and increase my perils in the 
future. It was better, therefore, to be silent, leaving 
Mr. Crosbitt and the outside world to put down my 
flight to the folly of impulsive girlhood and to the 
effects of the brain fever. 

Mr. Crosbitt regarded me attentively for a mo- 
ment or two. 

“ May an old man give a young lady a piece of 
advice ? ” he said ; “ considering that the young lady 
is the daughter of an old friend ? ” 

“ Did you know my father ? ” I asked eagerly, 
“ or my mother was it ? ” 

“ Your mother,’' he answered. “ I knew her 
very well long before she was Susan Wynne.” 

“ She was very pretty, wasn’t she ? ” 

“ Very pretty. Some day I will tell you more 
about her. But just now we have not time. Mrs. 
Pimpernel will be here before long, and I want to 
give you that piece of advice — if you will have it.” 

“ Of course,” I said. “ Go on, please.” 

“ It is just this — don’t let any pique or lovers’ 
quarrel stand in the way of your happiness.” 

“ Pique ? Lovers’ quarrel ? ” I exclaimed. “ I 
have no idea what you mean.” 

I suppose he did not in the least believe me, for 
he smiled a little. “ You are all alike,” he said. 
“ But don’t be too proud. Miss Wynne, for you are 
still very young, and all your life lies before you. 
And forgive an old man for wanting to warn and 


174 STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

help you.’’ Then he added, irrelevantly as I 
thought: You have a look of your mother, you 

know, at times, though you’re not really like her.” 

“ But I’m not proud,” I protested, “ and I know 
I’m young, and I should be very glad of your advice ; 
only, quite seriously and honestly, I don’t know what 
you mean.” 

My earnestness evidently puzzled him. 

“ I understood,” he said, in a slightly embarrassed 
way, “ from Mrs. Pimpernel, that her son and you 
had — that in fact you were lovers.” 

“ Lovers ! Jesse and I ? ” 

My face and voice must have shown something of 
what I felt, for he was obviously disconcerted. 

“ Yes,” he went on, “ and that something he had 
done, some fancied coldness or neglect on his part 
had piqued you into anger — you were very high- 
spirited and proud, she said — and had caused you to 
take matters into your own hands and run away.” 

At first I sat speechless, for this version of my 
conduct took my breath away. 

“ It isn’t — it isn’t the very least true,” I gasped, 
when at length my indignation and astonishment 
found utterance. “ It ” 

Then there was a knock at the door; it opened; 
and my guardian entered the room. 

Reader, I cannot tell you how I felt when I saw 
her. The memory of those months before my flight, 
with their attendant suspicions rushed headlong into 
my consciousness, conflicting with the everyday 
atmosphere of the lawyer’s office, with the mental 
attitude from which, for so many years I had been 
accustomed to regard Mrs. Pimpernel, with the im- 
pression created in me by her impassive face ; all of 
which seemed to forbid the conclusions I had arrived 


MY MOTHER’S WILL. 


175 


at, and to stamp my fears as wild, unjustified, and 
absurd. Confusion, too, at the recollection of our 
last interview, added to my discomfort, and I did not 
know what behaviour it were best to adopt. My 
guardian, however, showed no awkwardness ; having 
greeted Mr. Crosbitt, she advanced towards me with 
outstretched hand, and, as I took it — for I could not 
well refuse to take it — she stooped and kissed me 
on the forehead. 

You have caused us a great deal of anxiety,’’ 
she said, in what I called her important voice. “ I 
am glad you fell into good hands, and that your 
freak had no worse consequences.” 

I did not reply and I kept my eyes downcast, for 
I did not want her to read the defiance which I feared 
might look forth from them. 

We proceeded immediately to the legal formali- 
ties necessary to Mrs. Pimpernel’s surrender of her 
guardianship ; and when these had been disposed of, 
Mr. Crosbitt turned to me, saying : 

“ So now. Miss Wynne, you are your own mis- 
tress. Neither Mrs. Pimpernel nor I have any fur- 
ther control over you, as far, that is to say, as the 
disposal of your income and your freedom of action 
is concerned, though we still maintain, as regards a 
large part of your capital, the position of trustees 
towards you. You know, I suppose, the provisions 
of your mother’s will ? ” 

“ I have never heard anything about the will,” I 
answered. 

“Indeed?” He knitted his brows. “I thought 
Mrs. Pimpernel would ” 

“ I have told Miss Wynne nothing,” Mrs. Pim- 
pernel broke in. “ Romantic and inclined to ex- 
travagance as she has always been, I thought it better 


1^6 THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

to bring her up in ignorance of the fortune she would 
inherit. I have tried to teach her how a Christian 
woman ought to spend both time and money, but 
I have not accustomed her to look forward to the 
possession of wealth.’’ 

“ I had better then, Miss Wynne,” said the 
lawyer, “ read the will to you.” 

“ I would rather you told me what it means,” I 
answered. 

I learned then, for the first time, that I was the 
absolute possessor of the third part of forty thou- 
sand pounds, and that I was entitled to the life in- 
terest of the remaining two-thirds, the capital of 
which was held in trust for me by Mrs. Pimpernel 
and Mr. Crosbitt. At my death these two-thirds 
were to go, one-third to a nephew of my father’s, the 
other to Mrs. Pimpernel, or, failing her, to her chil- 
dren. 

“ Is there nothing about the jewels?” I asked. 

“Jewels? No, there is nothing about jewels. I 
was looking at the will the other day, and I am sure 
there is no mention of anything of the kind. Do 
you know anything about jewels, Mrs. Pimpernel? ” 

“ Yes, I knew about them ; that is to say, I knew 
that Susan had a great deal of jewellery, very valu- 
able jewellery, and that she had disposed of it in 
some way before her death, though I did not know 
what she had done with it.” 

“ I don’t understand,” the lawyer said. 

“ I dare say not. It was one of Susan’s strange 
ways of doing things.” It was curious how Mrs. 
Pimpernel’s voice softened when she spoke of my 
mother. “ She wrote me a letter, to be given to 
me after her death, and in it she said that she had 
disposed of the jewels in a way she thought I might 


MY MOTHER’S WILL. 


177 


not like, and so did not want me to know what she 
had done till many years had passed, when I should 
no longer be angry with her.” Mrs. Pimpernel 
paused : she seemed strangely moved. “ I wish she 
hadn’t taken that way,” she said, “ I wish she hadn’t. 
I wish she had handed them over to some safe keep- 
ing in an open way.” 

“ And the letter,” suggested Mr. Crosbitt. “ Was 
there anything further ? ” 

“ The letter went on to say,” continued Mrs. Pim- 
pernel, “ that when Hester came of age the jewels 
would be handed over to her upon application to 
the person who had the keeping of them. That per- 
son’s name and address she did not tell me ; it would 
be found, she said, inside a locket, fastened round 
Hester’s throat and which was not to be opened till 
her twenty-third birthday.” 

“ Extraordinary ! ” murmured the lawyer. 

“ Inside the letter was a key,” Mrs. Pimpernel 
went on, “ the key which opened the locket and 
loosed the chain. She gave it into my keeping,” she 

said, with the explanation of it, to show ” the 

voice trembled a little — “ to show how much she 
trusted me, though she was doing what she thought 
I wouldn’t like.” 

“ Has the locket been opened ? ” 

Mrs. Pimpernel hesitated before she answered. 
She was thinking, I suppose, of the lost key. 

'' Yes, and the jewels have been handed over to 
Miss Wynne.” 

“ I may know, I suppose, to whom she had en- 
trusted them.” 

It was I who answered : “ To Mr. James Bra- 
brook. He is dead ; it was his son who gave them 
over to me.” 


1^8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

The lawyer’s thoughts seemed to have fled far 
from the dusty room in which we sat. 

“ Poor Susan,” he muttered, “ poor Susan ! ” 
Then he turned to Mrs. Pimpernel with a strange 
little smile. “ She was always a little afraid of you, 
I think.” 

Yes. But I saved her — I did save her, Mr. 
Crosbitt, from much misery.” 

“ I suppose so. Yes, no doubt — I suppose so. 
It was better as it was.” 

I did not understand all this, but suddenly I re- 
membered something and put my hand into my 
pocket. 

“ I have a letter, Mr. Crosbitt, for you,” and I 
handed him the letter which I had found in the box 
of jewels. 

Something moved him, evidently, as he opened 
and read it, and for a while he did not speak ; then : 

The letter is from your mother. Miss Wynne,” 
he said. “ It states that if you should not live to 
claim the jewels, they are to remain in the possession 
of James Brabrook or his descendants. It has, of 
course, no legal value.” 

For a space we were all silent ; it was Mrs. Pim- 
pernel who spoke first. Rising she came towards 
me. 

“ Beta is very anxious to see you. Will you 
come and see her?” she said; then, as I remained 
silent : “ Jesse is away,” she added. 

Now I had made up my mind that I would never 
enter the house in Regent’s Gate again. 

'‘Won’t she come and see me at the hotel?” I 
asked. 

“ No. My daughter knows nobody who will not 
come to my house.” 


MY MOTHER'S WILL. 


179 


I Still hesitated. I particularly did not want to 
go to Mrs. Pimperners house ; yet the desire to see 
Beta, to hear all that had happened to her since 
my flight, was strong in proportion to my affection ; 
and if she herself was anxious to see me, I could not 
refuse. Pride and prudence gave way, and I 
answered : 

“ I will come.” 

It was settled that I was to go that very after- 
noon, and then Mrs. Pimpernel took her leave, shak- 
ing hands with me as she had done on entering, 
but without repeating the formal kiss. 

It is a pity,” remarked Mr. Crosbitt when we 
were left alone, “ that you have quarrelled with 
Mrs. Pimpernel.” 

“ It is hardly a quarrel,” I returned. 

“ No, a quarrel takes two, and Mrs. Pimpernel 
seems to have no unfriendly feeling towards you. It 
is a pity, I should rather say, that you have taken 
offence.” 

It seemed such a curiously inadequate way of 
representing my attitude towards Mrs. Pimpernel 
that I nearly laughed. 

“ It is hardly that either,” I said. 

“ I don’t want to interfere or be tiresome,” Mr. 
Crosbitt went on, “ but as you have lived with these 
people all your life, I cannot help feeling sorry that 
there should be a breach between you, and I pre- 
sume now upon my age and upon my old friendship 
for your mother, to ask you if it is impossible that 
it should be healed.” 

“ It isn’t an ordinary sort of breach, you know,” 
I answered. “ If you knew — but I dare say you 
would think I was all wrong, and I believe it is better 
not to try to explain.” Indeed in the prosaic atmos- 


l8o the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

phere of Mr. Crosbitt’s office, it would be hard, I 
knew, to make my story seem anything but the im- 
aginings of a distorted fancy, and I decided that 
I could not attempt it. “ I am going to see Beta 
this afternoon,” I finished up. 

“ Is Beta the daughter? ” 

“ Yes, and my very great friend.” 

“ I have seen very little of Mrs. Pimpernel since 
her marriage,” Mr. Crosbitt went on after a momen- 
tary pause. “We never took to each other much 
when we were young, and for many years it is only 
business matters which have brought us together. 
But I always respected her — yes, I always had a 
respect for Clarissa Howson, as she was in those old 
days when I saw much of her.” 

“ I can’t imagine her young,” I said, “ or — or in 
love you know, or anything.” 

The lawyer smiled. “ I don’t know that she ever 
was in love; certainly she never gave me the im- 
pression of there being anything romantic in her 
affection for her husband. But then Mr. Pimpernel 
— Well, well, he was worthy, and — substantial.” He 
paused, and his brisk voice took on a shade of 
dreaminess. “ No,” he went on, “ the romance 
of Mrs. Pimpernel’s life was her love for your 
mother ? ” 

“ Was she really very fond of her? ” 

“ There could be no doubt of that I think. It 
was a curious friendship, for the two were extraordi- 
narily different in character — though perhaps that 
was the cause of it. I think it must have been your 
mother’s gentleness and timid ways, her simplicity 
and yieldingness which appealed to something 
in Clarissa’s certainly rather hard nature, and 
roused in her a sort of passionate affection which 


MY MOTHER’S WILL. l8l 

is the strongest, as I believe, that she has ever 
known.” 

“ Except for Jesse,” I put in. 

“Her son? Is that so?” 

“ Yes, only it’s different. He dominates her” 

“ I shouldn’t have thought anybody could have 
dominated Clarissa. Certainly in her friendship 
with Susan, she did all the dominating. She ruled 
her absolutely.” 

“ Did she interfere in her love affairs ? ” I 
asked. 

A shade crossed my companion’s face. “ Not in 
all. In one case she most distinctly and decisively 
did. If it had not been for Clarissa, Susan would 
have married James Brabrook.” 

“ It’s a mistake, I believe,” I said, “ to interfere 
in other people’s love affairs.” 

He smiled again as he looked at me. “ Is that 
your experience ? ” 

I felt the little bite of sarcasm in his words. 
“ One has other people’s experiences to go by as 
well as one’s own,” I replied with what I meant for 
dignity. 

The smile remained on his face, but there was 
nothing but kindliness in his voice as he answered. 
“ Of course, of course. And you have Susan’s 
hair.” 

I did not see the connection between the two 
parts of his speech, and I suppose my face showed 
that I was puzzled. 

“ Miss Wynne,” he went on, “ you may have 
thought me impertinent once or twice in the course 
of this interview, in offering advice or inviting con- 
fidence ; but I will tell you before you go, why I 
am more than usually interested in you, why I am 


1 82 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

anxious that life should go smoothly with you, why 
I wish you at the beginning to avoid mistakes which 
may lead to the marring of it. Clarissa Howson 
and I, unsympathetic as we were to one another, 
had yet one thing in common — our devotion to your 
mother.’’ 

As he spoke the lines in his face deepened, and 
his voice faltered slightly, I thought, on the last 
words. All the romance in me leaped up and 
stirred me to emotion. “ Oh,” I breathed in a de- 
licious thrill of wonder and pity, “ were you in love 
with her? ” 

Again he smiled, but somewhat pitifully, I 
thought. 

“ I suppose so.” His thoughts seem to travel far 
away from Lincoln’s Inn Fields. “ It’s a long time 
ago,” he said. 

“ And she — ? ” I ventured after a moment, ten- 
tatively. 

“She? Oh no, she never cared for me. I was 
one of many. There were a good many of us, Miss 
Wynne. She was not, I suppose, a clever woman, 
or particularly wise or strong; but there was some- 
thing — the thing they call charm perhaps — there 
were many of us who would have given our all 
for her sake : and though I am an old fogey now, I 
was young then. Miss Hester, as well as Mrs. Pim- 
pernel.” 

His face looked so gentle and so kindly as he 
spoke, and his love for my mother seemed to bring 
me so much nearer to him, that I was tempted then 
and there to tell him all my troubles ; but I remem- 
bered the words with which he had prefaced the 
story of that love: “ I will tell you before you go,” 
and I thought that perhaps he had no more time to 


MY MOTHER’S WILL. 


183 


give me and had intended to hint as much ; and so 
I checked the impulse towards making him my con- 
fidant, and left him under the erroneous impression 
which he had received from Mrs. Pimpernel. After- 
wards I was sorry, as one so often is — afterwards, 
when it is too late. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


BETA AND I FALL OUT AND MAKE IT UP AGAIN. 

Beta was watching for me at the dining-room 
window. She met me in the hall, and we flew into 
each other’s arms. How glad I was to see her again ! 
I think, indeed, that until that moment I had not 
realised how dear she was to me. She dragged me 
into our own little room, the pigsty, and there we 
sat down on two chairs and looked at one another 
and found at first nothing to say, and hardly knew 
whether to laugh or cry. I saw then that she was 
looking thinner and paler than when we had parted, 
and presently I began to ask her about her Bob. 

“ Oh, Bobby,” she said, comes here sometimes, 
and he’s his uncle’s heir it seems (Jesse found that 
out), and Mother is fairly agreeable to him.” 

“Only fairly?” 

“ Well sometimes more than others. I think she 
hesitates between God and mammon, you know, for 
I’m sure she thinks it would be a good match and yet 
she’s not satisfied with what she calls his principles.” 

“ What are his principles ? ” I enquired. 

“ I don’t think he’s got any,” answered Beta with 
that naive simplicity which often made me laugh, and 
made me laugh now. 

“ How dreadful ! ” I exclaimed. 

“ Oh, you know what I mean, Hester,” Beta 
said. “ He’s not a church-worker, or an anti-ritual- 
184 


BETA AND I FALL OUT. 


185 


ist or any of the things that Mother thinks people 
ought to be. He’s just an ordinary nice person, and 
he’s clean and well dressed and good tempered and 
kind, and I like him ever so much better than if he 
were a cross professing Christian.” I knew so well 
what she meant, for Christianity in the Pimpernel 
household was not an encouraging creed. 

“ But it’s all going on right, so far, Beta,” I said, 
“ and you are quite happy ? ” 

“ It’s going on all right, I suppose. But oh, 
Hester, how can I be happy with you going off like 
that and leaving me all that time without a word ? ” 

Her eyes filled with tears, and I saw her mistily 
for a little while through the drops which came into 
mine, for it hurt me horribly to give pain to Beta, 
and I knew that I should have to distress her still 
further. 

“ Dear,” I said, “ I couldn’t help it, and I can’t 
even explain. If you only knew! But I can never 
tell you, and you will just have to go on thinking 
badly of me.” 

“ I shall never think badly of you, Hester, never, 
never, no matter what they say ; but I could not bear 
the silence and the anxiety, and I thought you might 
have written me just one line.” 

“ But I dared not. I was so afraid they would 
get hold of the letter, and I wanted above all things 
that they should not know where I was.” 

“ But Jesse said he knew — that you had written 
to him, and I thought if you wrote to Jesse ” 

“ Wrote to Jesse ! I would have cut my hand 
off first. How could you believe such a thing?” 

“ I didn’t at first, but — Hester, you’re not in love 
with him ? ” 

I was so angry that I flung away the hand she 
13 


1 86 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

had placed on my knee, and leaving my chair, 
stamped up and down the room, too enraged for 
speech. That Beta — Beta who knew me, could con- 
ceive, even for an instant — ! Mr. Crosbitt had been 
bad enough, but this was more than I could stand. 
Presently I stopped in front of her. “ And pray,” I 
said in my nastiest tones — and I know my voice can 
sound horrid at times, when I am really put out — 
“has Jesse refused my love with scorn? or are we 
about to be married, and when ? ” 

Beta’s round face had grown longer, those full 
child-like lips of hers were quivering, and tears stood 
in her soft, honest eyes. 

“ Oh, Hester ! ” was all she said. 

“ You know so much -more about it than I do,” I 
went on, still in the horrid voice, “ that I shall be 
glad if you will give me some information.” 

She did not answer, but only looked at me with 
that pitiful look. 

“ Well? ” I said, hardening my heart, as one does 
against people one loves when they have hurt one. 
Still she did not answer; only the tears overflowed 
and fell over her round cheeks with great splashes 
down into her lap. Then my heart melted, as I had 
known, indeed, all along that it must and would, for 
I never could stand out against Beta when she was 
in what I called a wounded animal mood ; and so I 
had to kneel down beside her and wipe away her 
tears and say : “ There, there ! ” Then after a time, 
she told me that Jesse had declared my flight to be 
the result of pique, that he had called me a little 
spitfire, and said my behaviour was just like me, that 
he had announced the reception of a letter from me, 
and had stated that by-and-bye he would put every- 
thing straight again. 


BETA AND I FALL OUT. 


187 


“ I didn’t believe it, Hester, I never for an instant 
believed it,” Beta asseverated, “ except that I thought 
you might possibly have been obliged to write to 
him about money or something; and I only asked 
you — indeed, I only asked you, because I wanted 
to hear what you would say.” 

“ And you didn’t like it when you did hear,” I 
remarked grimly. 

“ You know I think he does want to marry you,” 
Beta said presently, almost in a whisper. 

“ I know he does,” I answered, “ but I can’t think 
why. Except,” I added suddenly — it was very 
stupid of me, I know, but until that moment I had 
not realised that I was wealthy, and that Jesse had 
always known of my wealth — except — why I’m an 
heiress of course.” 

How clear it all seemed now, except about the 
jewels ; his desire for such speedy possession of them 
still puzzled me. 

“ I wonder if he’s in debt? ” I said. 

“ I don’t know,” Beta answered, “ but there’s 
something odd about him; he is always appearing 
and disappearing, and the other day he went off quite 
suddenly without the least warning.” 

I left Beta very miserable over the knowledge 
that I was no longer going to live in her mother’s 
house, and I was obliged to promise that I would 
come and see her from time to time ; and indeed 
for my own sake alone, I could not resign myself to 
the idea of parting from her altogether. My affec- 
tion was stronger than my fears, my pride, and the 
rancour which I could not but feel towards Mrs. 
Pimpernel and her son, and I let my heart guide my 
head. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


JESSE PIMPERNEL SAYS GOOD-BYE. 

Before we left London, Mrs. Pimpernel came to 
call upon Mrs. Brabrook. The two women had 
already met at Granbigh Hold while I lay ill and 
unconscious, and I had often wondered, and had 
never been able to gather from Mrs. Brabrook’s 
scanty accounts of the visit, how they had got on. 
I was very much interested now to see them to- 
gether; and puzzled; for they seemed to me to be 
fundamentally different, and yet to have something 
in common which bridged over the differences be- 
tween them. Looking back now, I think that the 
bond consisted in a common condemnation of the 
sins of the flesh above all other sin ; instinctive in 
Mrs. Brabrook, whose nature was essentially Puri- 
tan ; adopted, on the part of Mrs. Pimpernel, as 
being the point of view of the society and the reli- 
gious body to which she belonged. The one knew no 
temptation of the grosser kinds ; the other — except 
in the direction of muffins, hot buttered toast and 
highly flavoured sauces, which I think, judging by 
her practice she must have excluded from the list 
of fleshly indulgences — had never encountered any: 
and both abjured the most conspicuous teaching of 
the faith they professed, by uncompromising judg- 
ment of those whose temptations they did not under- 

i88 


JESSE PIMPERNEL SAYS GOOD-BYE. 189 

stand. Sincerity too, united them; for now, as I 
look back through the years that divide me from that 
time of suffering, I believe that Mrs. Pimpernel was 
sincere in her desire after goodness, that narrow and 
selfish as was her creed, she was genuine in her pro- 
fession of it, and that her active dislike of me arose 
from the fact that I was, though unwillingly and 
indirectly, the cause of her falling away from her 
own standard of right. What a contrast they were, 
I thought, the two women, as they sat and discussed 
the hollowness of the world — by which, I gathered, 
they meant society in general : John’s mother, slight 
and active, with her beautifully cut face, her soft 
gray hair, and her clothes dainty in their simplicity ; 
and Mrs. Pimpernel, stout, and sallow, imperious in 
manner, confident in aspect, with garments aggres- 
sively disdainful of beauty and the fashion. Towards 
the end of her visit she announced that Jesse was 
about to leave England. 

“For long?” Mrs. Brabrook enquired. 

“ I don’t know for how long : he says for many 
years.” 

As she spoke, she turned and looked at me, and 
I saw hatred in her glance. Could I have anything 
to do with his going, I wondered, to cause that look ? 
At any rate it helped me to hide the relief I felt at 
the news ; and knowing how uncontrolledly she loved 
the man I so dreaded, I could not but pity her. As 
she said good-bye, she repeated that bitter glance. 

“ It’s because of you he’s going,” she said in a 
low tone. 

I made no reply, and indeed, I was bewildered. 
I had no atom of belief in Jesse’s avowed affection, 
and I could not conceive why I should be responsible 
for his departure. At any rate I could not but re- 


igO THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

joice that he was going away; until the sea rolled 
between us, I felt, I should not be free from the 
fear with which he inspired me. I arose the next 
morning, happy in the thought that I should prob- 
ably never see him again, and as the train rolled out 
of Paddington station on the journey back to Devon- 
shire, I breathed a great breath of relief, hoping that 
my trials were at an end. 

But I had not yet seen the last of Jesse Pim- 
pernel. Two days after our return to Granbigh 
Hold, when I came in from a walk, I found him 
in the drawing-room, and he informed me that he 
had come all the way from London to say good-bye 
to me. 

“ I must see you alone, little Hester, before I 
go,” he said, as he took his leave that afternoon. “ I 
shall come back again in the morning, and I hope 
you will give me half an hour.” 

I don’t see what you can have to say to me,” I 
answered. “ It can be nothing, at any rate, that I 
want to listen to.” 

“ I have something to say, nevertheless, and you 
must listen to it.” 

“ Then say it now,” I said, for we were stand- 
ing in the hall, and Mrs. Brabrook, after bidding 
him good-bye, had gone back into the drawing- 
room. 

“ No,” he replied, “ I must see you once again 
Hester ” ; and then, before I knew where I was, he 
had bent over my hand, raised it to his lips and 
kissed it. 

I was very angry: that he should think it pos- 
sible to flatter me by his attempts at love-making was 
an insult to my intelligence; the touch of his lips 
was loathsome to me; and on the impulse of the 


JESSE PIMPERNEL SAYS GOOD-BYE. 


I9I 

moment, I whipped out my handkerchief and rubbed 
the place which they had touched. He was a vain 
man, and the action stung him more, I think, than 
any speech I could have made. I shall never forget 
the look he gave me ; a momentary one, for he 
changed his expression instantly; but the look re- 
mained with me and haunted me that night in my 
dreams. 

I told John about the next morning’s interview. 

Must I see him, do you think ? ” I asked. 

“ I don’t see exactly how you can refuse,” he 
answered, “ and it will soon be over, and then we 
shall have done with him, I hope, for ever.” 

The morning, I have always thought, is a good 
time for doing unpleasant things. One has not 
many hours of suspense and looking forward, for 
one thing ; and one’s courage is higher, I think, when 
the day is broad and young. So I did not feel par- 
ticularly nervous as the time for seeing Jesse drew 
near — not half so nervous as I had felt when thinking 
about it in the night; I was a little curious as to 
what he might have to say to me ; but I thought the 
chief reason for his coming was probably because he 
knew I didn’t want him. His manner at the begin- 
ning of the interview was wonderfully deprecating 
and subdued. He began by entreating my forgive- 
ness for the many ways in which he had unwit- 
tingly and unwillingly offended me ; he spoke of life- 
long devotion, of the perils of desperation, of the 
salvation that lay in a woman’s love ; finally, in pas- 
sionate, and I must say, wonderfully effective lan- 
guage, he renewed and pressed upon me, his offer 
of marriage. His importunity distressed, besides 
displeasing me ; it was distasteful to me to see him, 
grovelling, as it were, mentally and morally in the 


ig 2 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

attempt to win the fortune, which, I was well per- 
suaded, was my sole attraction in his eyes. 

“ Have I not shown you,” I said at last, “ have 
I not by every possible means shown you that I 
both dislike and distrust you ? ” 

Then his manner changed; he looked at me fix- 
edly, and when he spoke, his words came slowly. 

“ You have,” he said, “ little Hester, indeed you 
have.” 

“ Then what is the good ” 

He interrupted me. “ No good. I understand. 
It is no good. I shall woo you no more, little Hes- 
ter.” 

“ Then let it be good-bye at once,” I said. 

” Yet,” he continued, as though he had not heard 
me, “ I could and should have won you, if you had 
not fallen in love with that maniac.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” I asked — calmly enough, 
for the term he used did not convey to me his 
meaning. 

“ That dif)somaniac, your host ; son of a dipso- 
maniac, and father of more, if he persuades you into 
marrying him.” 

I thought only of the second word of his speech. 

“ It is utterly false,” I cried. “ He has never 
even tasted anything that could make him what you 
say.” 

“ Don’t you be too sure ; but even so, it’s bound 
to come, sooner or later.” 

“ Never,” I asserted, “ with a man like him.” 

Jesse laughed. 

A man like him ! John drunk and John sober 
are two different people. Have you ever seen a man 
blind or mad drunk ? ” 

“ Often,” I replied, which, by the way, was not 


JESSE PIMPERNEL SAYS GOOD-BYE. 


193 


true, for my experience of drunkenness was confined 
to the occasional encounter of staggering figures in 
the streets ; but I did not reflect on the accuracy of 
my reply, and, in the heat of the moment, I believe 
I would have said anything which I thought at all 
likely to annoy or disconcert Jesse. 

“ Well, wait till you see your beloved wildly 
drunk,” he went on, “ as you probably will before 
long. As for keeping up his teetotalism ! Do you 
think I was blind that day at lunch, little Hester ? ” 

“ Fm sorry,” I replied, “ that he’s not at home 
to come and turn you out ; so I must ask you to leave 
the house in the ordinary way.” 

“ Oh, he’s not at home. Is he away, mav I 
ask?” 

“ Oh, no ; he’s only gone into Cloverdale. It’s 
market day. But there are several men about the 
farm.” 

“ Market day ! ” Jesse’s utterance quickened. 

Does he stay there long?” 

“ I don’t see that it’s any business of yours,” I 
said. Good-bye.” 

I walked to the door and held it open. Good- 
bye,” I repeated. 

He crossed the room slowly and paused in front 
of me. 

Is it good-bye, little Hester? Is it good-bye? ” 

“ I hope so.” My hands were behind my back 
as I leaned against the open door. 

“ Not even your hand? ” he said. 

I only looked at him, and then, without further 
speech, he passed out of the room and across the 
hall and disappeared through the front door. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE PARLOUR AT THE GEORGE INN. 

I WATCHED him take his way through the garden 
and out by the postern gate. I was hidden behind 
the curtain, but I need not have troubled to conceal 
myself, for he never looked back. When I was quite 
sure he was gone, I left the window, and sat down 
on a little stool in front of the fire and — no, I did 
not think ; it was not thought that held me ; some- 
thing more indefinite it was which kept me motion- 
less there. After a while the luncheon bell rang, 
and I went into the dining-room in a dreamy, ab- 
stracted state. 

“Did Mr. Pimpernel come?” asked Mrs. Bra- 
brook. 

“ Yes,” I answered, “ and he’s gone.” 

“For good?” 

I had a little goose-quill creeping of the flesh. 
“ Or for bad,” I said. 

“ You are a person of prejudices, Hester,” Mrs. 
Brabrook said rebukingly. 

“ And presentiments,” I added. 

“ Presentiments are absurd and false.” 

“ Mine are generally true.” 

“ You have no right to judge Jesse Pimpernel.” 

“ I don’t judge him. I — I ” At last I found 

the right word. “ I fathom him,” I said. 

194 


THE PARLOUR AT THE GEORGE INN. 1^5 

Then she said no more, as her way was, nor did 
I speak again till the end of the meal, when I an- 
nounced that I was going for a walk. 

“ It’s the best thing you can do,” she said. “ You 
brood too much, Hester. Are you going far ? ” she 
added. 

“ I think so. I should like a long walk.” 

Then perhaps — would it be too far for you to 
go into Cloverdale ? I want some more of that gray 
yarn, and I have just snapped one of my knitting 
needles. You could drive back with John.” 

“ It would not be at all too far. I should like to 
go,” I said. 

“ You had better start soon then.” 

Yes, I will,” I assented, and I went upstairs at 
once to get ready. 

The day was mild, one of those soft warm days 
that come sometimes in early spring. In the night it 
had blown a gale, and in my intervals of wakeful- 
ness I had lain and listened to the sweeping skirts 
of the wind as it brushed the moor, and to the lone 
booming of the ocean beating against the cliffs. 
Now the wind was hushed to a gentle breeze, but I 
still could hear those surging waves moaning about 
the rocks. I had never yet been to the cliffs, and to- 
day the desire was strong upon me to reach them; 
but I could not go there now; I must hurry on my 
way. Strange the sadness that lay upon me, strange 
the unformulated fear, and strange that Mrs. Bra- 
brook’s yarn and knitting needles should have given 
me an excuse for doing the very thing I wanted to. 
For I wanted very much to go to Cloverdale ; a note 
in Jesse’s voice, a look upon his face had roused in 
me a curious sense of impending danger ; danger not 
to myself so much as to John : and, though I could 


jg6 THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

not conceive how, and especially on that very after- 
noon, Jesse could possibly injure him, I felt an ardent 
desire to warn the one man against the other. 

I reached Cloverdale still early in the afternoon. 
It was market day, and the streets of the little town 
were unusually busy. I passed through them, 
keenly on the alert, on the look-out for the two men 
whose faces were so vividly before me. I saw no 
sign of either of them; and after I had made my 
purchases, I strolled through the market-place, hop- 
ing I might catch sight of John. But no, he cer- 
tainly was not there, and I resolved to make my way 
to the George Inn and, if I did not see him about, 
to find Timmins the coachman, tell him that I was 
going to drive back in the gig, and ask him what 
time his master intended to start for home and if 
he could tell me where he was. There was quite a 
little crowd about the George, and people continually 
passing in and out of the bar. I saw neither John 
nor Timmins, and as there were several rough look- 
ing men in the street, some of whom did not appear 
to be altogether sober, I did not care to linger about. 
I decided therefore to turn down a little side alley 
and enter the inn from the garden at the back. I 
could see the landlady in that way without going 
through the crowd in the bar, and she would send 
someone to find Timmins for me. The day was be- 
ginning to wane now, and the damp, soft air was 
turning chilly; the grass in the garden was heavy 
with moisture, and I felt a little shiver run through 
me as I shut to the gate after entering. I turned to 
walk to the inn door; and then I stood still, quite 
still ; for close to me, within a few feet, were the two 
men who possessed my thoughts. A low window 
reaching to the ground, with the centre casement 


THE PARLOUR AT THE GEORGE INN. 

slightly ajar, gave access to a private parlour, and 
in the parlour they stood. I could not hear at first 
what they said, though I heard their voices, but there 
was no need for words; the scene told its own tale, 
and I knew now what the danger was which I had 
feared, I understood the look on Jesse’s face, the 
sound in his voice, when he had said in answer to 
my statement that John had gone to Cloverdale : 
“ Does he stay there long ? ” 

The only thing I did not understand was how he 
had persuaded John to come with him : the rest was 
easy. John stood by the fireplace ; on his face, which 
was very pale, was an odd look ; his lips were tightly 
pressed together; his eyes shone curiously. Jesse 
bent over a table on which stood a number of de- 
canters and bottles, and poured the contents of one 
of them into a glass. He raised the glass and held 
it out towards his companion. 

“ To prove your good faith,” I heard him say. 

John shook his head ; if he spoke, his answer was 
not audible to me. The other moved towards him. 

“ It must be,” I think he said ; “ it must be. 
Otherwise the bargain’s off.” 

He brought the glass nearer and nearer to the 
man he tempted ; he raised it towards him ; it seemed 
to me that the fumes of wine and spirits came out 
to me even where I stood. I saw the face I loved, 
drawn and white, contorted by the struggle within ; 
I saw the evil eagerness of Jesse’s expression grow in 
intensity ; I saw him raise his hand, nearer and ever 
nearer, slowly and gently, as though he feared to 
break some spell ; and I saw that John stood mo- 
tionless, fascinated as it were by the thing he strove 
against. Hardly more than a minute, it lasted, I 
think, though it takes so long to tell ; for the power 


igS THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


to move came back to me almost at once, and then, 
without pause or thought, I thrust back the window, 
and was in the room, and, dashing the glass from 
Jesse’s hand, I stood by John’s side, and clasped his 
hands and said : “ Come ! ” 

I never have been able clearly to remember what 
followed. I have a confused recollection of Jesse’s 
face, baffled and furious, of words foul and coarse, 
of John’s striking him on the mouth as he uttered 
them, and of seeing him stagger and fall back into a 
chair : but I remember nothing distinctly and really 
till I found myself in the gig by John’s side, on the 
way to Granbigh Hold. Through all the drive home 
he never spoke, and I, though my heart was bleeding 
for him, dared to say no word. When we were quite 
near home, I ventured to put out my hand and lay 
it upon his that held the reins. For half a minute 
he let it lie there ; then, with his other hand he 
lifted it, and put it away from him. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 


ON THE CLIFFS NEAR GRANBIGH HOLD. 

At last I got to those cliffs by the edge of the 
Atlantic and looked over them down into the sea. 
It was the day after my walk to Cloverdale, and the 
mild, soft weather still continued. The wind had 
risen again during the night, and though it had sunk 
now, the great waves it had raised still swelled and 
surged, and broke their green smooth sides into 
foam against the rocks. The spray rose up, salt and 
fresh, and sprinkled me where I stood, and the cry of 
the sea, monotonous, despairing and continuous, was 
loud in my ears. Perhaps I put my own sadness into 
its voice, for I was both sad and anxious. John's 
face haunted me with the set look it had worn 
through the miserable constraint of yesterday even- 
ing, and the way in which he avoided me touched me 
to the quick. He had told his mother nothing of 
what had taken place, and I of course said nothing. 
My one desire was to revive and spur his courage, to 
tell him I trusted in his strength, that I honoured and 
in no way despised him. But all through the day he 
avoided me, as I have said, and I had had no chance 
of easing the longing I felt to comfort him. 

Yet I was hardly surprised that evening when I 
saw him coming towards me ; I was onlv glad ; and 
I was determined that I would break through the 

199 


200 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

reserve with which he had hedged himself about, and 
would speak of that which lay uppermost in the 
thoughts and deepest in the hearts of both of us. He 
came and stood beside me. 

'' So you have got here at last ? ’’ 

“ Yes. I think one generally does what one 
means to in the end, don’t you ? ” 

“No,— I don’t know.” Then quickly, “Well, 
perhaps what one means to. Not what one wants 
to.” 

“ You should mean to do what you want to,” I 
said, “ and then it would be all right.” 

“ And I mean just the opposite.” He was look- 
ing straight out to sea, his eyes on the horizon. I 
don’t quite know what it was which impelled me 
to the utterance of the words I spoke next ; some un- 
formulated vague idea, I suppose, of sparing him 
anything in the nature of a confession, by taking 
confession upon myself and showing him how' poor 
and mean I was ; but quite suddenly and without 
premeditation, this is what I said : 

“ I have something to confess to you.” 

He turned his eyes from the sunset to my face. 

“ To confess ? What can you possibly have done 
that needs confession ? ” 

“ A meanness,” I answered, “ a dishonourable, a 
horrible thing.” 

“ You, Hester? ” A faint smile broke through his 
sadness. 

“ YeTs, I, Hester. You will despise me when I’ve 
told you. I dare say you’ll never speak to me 
again.” 

He gave a bitter little laugh, but made no other 
answer, and I plunged abruptly into what I had to 
say. 


ON THE CLIFFS NEAR GRANBIGH HOLD. 20I 

“ I was there that day when you came bac\ from 
Cloverdale.” 

“ Which day?” 

“ When you drove Jesse to the station. I was 
there in the room all the time when you were talk- 
ing to your mother. I meant to show myself, and 
then you didn’t see me, and then I was afraid; and 
so I was there, hearing all you said, a dishonourable 
eavesdropper, a wretched, mean creature, altogether 
despicable.” 

John did not speak for a minute ; then he said : 

“ I remember.” Presently : ” So you know all 
about it ? ” he went on. He was looking seawards 
again, and my eyes followed the direction of his, and 
I shall never forget that sunset and the bar of pale 
green below the space of red. “ I am glad. It saves 
me the telling of it. So that,” he added, “ was how 
you knew what to do yesterday.” 

I answered him somewhat irrelevantly. “ How 
did he persuade you to go with him ? ” 

“ He said he had something very important to 
confide to me about you.” 

“ You might have known it was a lie.” 

“ Yes, only I could not be perfectly sure, and I 
dared not refuse to listen to him.” After a pause: 
“ It’s just as well it happened,” John went on. “ It 
has shown you plainly what I am.” 

“ You are yourself,” I answered. “ That is 
enough for me.” 

“ A self,” he said bitterly, “ haunted by one of the 
lowest cravings a man can have — the desire for 
drink.” 

“ But you fight it.” 

“ Fight it? Good God, yes— chiefly by keeping 
myself miles away from temptation — so weak am I.” 
14 


202 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


“ A weak man would not keep away,” I said. 

Then he turned to me. “ Hester, you shall know 
the very bitterness and degradation of the thing 
that is in me. Don’t imagine I am strong or re- 
fined, or anything else that is good. I belong really, 
though I have not yet joined my fellows, to the 
commonest kind of drunkard that disgraces the 
streets.” 

” And the stronger the desire, the greater the 
heroism that resists,” I put in. 

But he went on as though he had not heard me. 
“ Why, the very smell of it is a temptation. You 
don’t know how the atmosphere of that room affected 
me yesterday — though he knew, evidently, the effect 
it would be likely to have upon me — you don’t know 
what I really am. You, Hester, pure in heart and 
mind, fastidious, nice in all you think and do, you 
have no idea of the degradation that was born in 
me. For do you know one of the things that tempts 
me? that I find it most difficult to resist? Well, Fll 
tell you, for I want you to understand. Do you 
know — but of course you don’t — the smell, the stale 
overnight smell that comes out in the mornings from 
public houses — ordinary common public houses in 
the streets of London? Well, that— is one of 
the things I find it hard to resist. To resist it I 
have sometimes had to go out into the road — not 
daring to trust myself on the pavement, lest I should 
be drawn in in spite of myself. Do you understand 
now something of what I am and of what I am likely 
to be?” 

Reader, I barely took in the sense of his words, 
so fast was all my consciousness riveted on his face. 
It rises before me now, sensitive, wrung with pain, 
and I can see the pathetic lines of the mouth, the 


ON THE CLIFFS NEAR GRANBIGH HOLD. 203 

quivering of the nostrils, the deep self-abasement 
and sadness in the eyes. 

“ John,” I said, “ what does it all matter ? ” 

He looked at me in bewilderment. “ Matter ! 
Do you understand what I say ? what it means ? ” 

“ Yes, I understand. But I knozv that the longer 
you live and strive, the stronger you will become, 
and that this thing you fear will lose its power over 
you. And even if it were not so — and it will be — 
what can it, what does it matter, between you and 
me?” 

He made a sound — half a groan and half a laugh 
it was, and turned away. “ Between you and me ! 
That’s just it — between you and me.” 

I waited a minute. “ John,” I said then, “ can’t 
I do anything? ” 

He faced me again. “ Yes. You can go away 
and never let me see you again.” 

He hurt me so that I could not speak, for there 
is nothing hurts a woman so much as that the man 
she loves should send her away from him when he is 
in trouble. He went on, still looking at me. 

“ I suppose you know I love you,” he said. 

In spite of all the hurt and the trouble, my heart 
leapt up — so sweet the words sounded. 

I wasn’t sure,” I answered, “ but I’m glad — 
glad.” 

“ Glad ! ” He gave that bitter little laugh again. 
“ You shouldn’t be glad. Why are you glad, Hes- 
ter?” 

“ Why ? Why, because you are all the world to 
me.” 

“ I can’t understand — it seems impossible you 
should care for me. Ah,” he went on in another 
tone, “ how I have longed for your love ! And yet 


204 STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

I would give my life that you had not given it 
to me.” 

‘‘ wily ? ” I whispered. 

“ Because I dare not take it.” 

We were both silent. I could not press upon him 
that which he refused, I could not tell him that I 
was willing to risk anything with or for him ; I could 
say nothing, though my heart was full. It was dusk 
now; all the sky was gray, and the wistfulness of 
eventide lay upon land and sea. Still the breakers 
boomed and moaned and the sound of them ever 
since has been to me like the sound of parting and 
of loss. 

” I have a friend,” said John by-and-bye, “ whom 
I made a year or two ago when I was in London. 
We met by chance and became interested in each 
other. He interested me because he had studied 
human nature and knew so much about it; I inter- 
ested him because I was another study, because from 
the first he noticed that there was something in me 
which set me apart from my fellows. Well, I told 
him in the end what it was, and I put to him a 
question which I had often put to myself.” He 
paused, and paused so long that at last I spoke. 

“ The question ? ” I said. 

“ The question — ought I to marry ? At first he 
would not answer me ; it was a thing he said, which 
I could only decide for myself ; he could not take 
the responsibility of giving advice or even an opin- 
ion. I pressed him however, and at last : ‘ Is there 
any particular woman,’ he asked, ‘ whom you want 
to marry ? ’ I answered that there was not, and then 
he said : ^ Well, don’t let her ever come into exist- 
ence.’ ” There was a minute’s pause. “ From that 
time,” John went on, “ I made up my mind — and 


ON THE CLIFFS NEAR GRANBIGH HOLD. 205 

that day at Cloverdale fixed my resolution — that I 
must do without love or wife or children.” 

They were almost the same words he had used to 
his mother, but whereas then they had fallen upon 
me like a dull blow, half stunning me, now they cut 
sharp and clear, with a pain I could not mistake and 
could not bear. 

“ Oh, no,” I cried, “ oh, no.” 

“ Yes,” he said, “ yes, Hester — apart from every- 
thing else — for the children’s sake.” 

Then I was silent, and I thought of that evening 
at Shivdallagh when I had sat before the peat fire, 
and dreamed dreams and wondered if love would 
come to me demanding sacrifice, and if I should be 
strong enough to make it. I had thought then that 
I should : it seemed harder now. Still I would do 
my best. 

Would it make it easier for you,” I said, “ if 
I went away ? ” 

“ I couldn't go on if you were to stay here,” he 
answered. 

Then Til go,” I said, “ Til go, John.” 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 


THE PATCH OF LIGHT ON THE LAWN. 

Reader, I left him ; as soon as I could arrange 
with Mrs. Loveday to meet me, I went away and 
left him. Mrs. Brabrook was very angry with me 
and with him. It was the wish of her heart that he 
should marry ; to abstain from doing so, was to her 
a want of faith in that God, Whose direct interposi- 
tion she looked for and found in every event of her 
life ; and it seemed to her presumptuous on the part 
of her son to dare to take a consciously active part 
in the shaping of a fore-ordained destiny. I suppose 
it had been apparent to her for some time how we 
felt towards each other, and that she must have ques- 
tioned John directly as to what had happened or 
was about to happen between us ; for the night be- 
fore I left Granbigh Hold, she came into my room 
and reproached me with the part I had chosen. It 
was hard enough to fight against myself ; it was 
harder still to withstand the upbraidings of the 
mother of the man I loved. She thought, she, whose 
directness of outlook and concentration of purpose 
were apt to miss in a situation the subtler elements 
which suggested themselves to more complex minds, 
that I was afraid of what marriage with John might 
bring upon myself; and she scorned me — with a 
scorn in which the contempt of the Puritan for one 
206 


THE PATCH OF LIGHT ON THE LAWN. 20/ 

who lacked trust in the Lord was mingled with the 
rancour of the mother against the woman who failed 
her son, — for refusing, as she thought, to run the 
risk. She could not understand my point of view — 
that I would not directly or indirectly persuade him 
to a thing of which his soul disapproved. To her the 
course he had chosen was the wrong one, and she 
would not allow that it might be right for him though 
it seemed wrong to her. Right and wrong were 
strongly marked in her view of life, clearly defined, 
positive always and never in any way relative ; and it 
was the bounden duty of everybody to urge wrong- 
doers towards the right. She was angry with me, 
and scornful ; and yet, for her very scorn, for her 
very anger, I loved her ; because of that love for John 
which prompted them. 

She might have known that it was not easy for 
me to go away, but if she guessed that it was hard, 
she gave me no sympathy. How hard it was, I shall 
never forget; and apart from the heart soreness, I 
knew that in separating myself from John, I sepa- 
rated myself from the only friend who entirely be- 
lieved in my story, the only person who would be 
watchful on my behalf, who was prepared to help, 
on the alert to protect me. And this was strongly 
borne in upon me on that very night when Mrs. 
Brabrook had overwhelmed me with her reproaches, 
my last night at Granbigh Hold. For on that night, 
after many weeks’ cessation of the strange occur- 
rences which had pursued me, another strange thing 
happened. I sat up late after Mrs. Brabrook left 
me, sat on the floor, leaning against the big arm- 
chair by the fire, and grieved over all that I was leav- 
ing. I put out the candles, not wishing it to be 
known by their diminished length, how long I had 


2o8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

watched ; the firelight relieved sufficiently that dark- 
ness of which I was afraid ; and besides, to-night I 
was too miserable for fear. I sat there till long after 
the hall clock had struck midnight ; it must have 
been close upon one o’clock, I think, when at last 
I forced myself to rise and prepare for bed. It was 
my habit to look out of the window the last thing 
at night, and to-night, as was my wont, I drew the 
curtains aside, half mechanically, and looked out 
into the gloom. I did it in a half conscious sort of 
way, but almost at once my consciousness stirred and 
quickened and my thoughts moved in a new direction. 
The house was quite silent ; the spirit of slumber 
seemed to possess it; all the dwellers in it should 
have been at rest. Yet one besides myself still waked 
and watched ; for on the grass in front lay a patch 
of light, sent forth from a window level with my 
own. My first thought was of John, but almost 
simultaneously with the thought came the reflection 
that his room was at the side of the house, that my 
own room, indeed, was the only occupied one which 
looked to the front. There is something curiously 
startling in finding light where one looks for dark- 
ness, something much more startling, I have always 
thought, than when darkness takes the place of ex- 
pected light ; it suggests somehow, uncanny agencies, 
an unlawful purpose, a hostile presence. So it was 
with me that night; the patch of light urged my 
pulses to a quicker beating, and fear which was 
never very far distant from me at that time, came 
close to me and whispered dread surmisings. Then 
common sense told me that one of the maids on the 
nightly round to see if the windows were all closed 
and fastened, had probably left a light in one of the 
rooms, and, taking courage by the hand, counselled 


THE PATCH OF LIGHT ON THE LAWN. 209 

me to go and see, urging that my refusal to obey 
might lead to danger from fire. So I re-lighted my 
candle, opened my bedroom door, and went out into 
the passage. It was dark in the passage, but the very 
darkness enabled me to observe the more easily 
whence came the light, for I could see a narrow 
streak of it beneath the door at the very end, the 
door in which James Brabrook had died, and in 
which, side by side upon the floor, John and I had 
uncovered and examined the jewels. It seemed to 
me that as I came nearer, I heard sounds within, 
harsh, rasping sounds, as of metal upon metal ; but 
I would not let myself hesitate now, and I went on 
without pausing and turned the door handle. The 
door was locked. Instantly the sounds within 
stopped; instantly the light vanished. I turned to 
flee, but in turning caught my foot in my dressing- 
gown, stumbled, and nearly fell, letting my candle- 
stick drop with a clatter to the ground. I heard a 
sound of scurrying feet across the floor as I made 
for the most obvious shelter, the room nearest at 
hand. Into it, somehow, in the darkness, I found 
my way and locked the door behind me. I waited, 
panting, terrified ; nothing happened ; no hand tried 
the door, no murderous voice threatened me. Alone 
I stood in the blackness and the silence and won- 
dered how far it was from the dawn. 

By-and-bye I crept over to the window ; I would 
see, I thought, whether the patch of light still was 
there. No, darkness unbroken covered all the 
ground, tempered to eyes which like mine had 
become used to it, by a faint cloud-combated light 
from the stars. By this faint light, looking out- 
wards, I was just in time to see the postern gate 
open and close again ; and I knew then that the room 


210 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

next to me was empty. I did not rouse the house ; 
it was not worth while now; I stole back to my 
own room and lay down in bed, and I said to my- 
self : “ The perils are not over yet, and to-morrow 
I part from the only friend who could and would 
have helped me.” 

But on the morrow, when the locked door, the 
gaping window, the picked lock in the cupboard 
in the wall, the attempt to force open the safe, proved 
that my adventure of the night could not have been 
imaginary, I thought but little of the perils which 
might lie before me ; I thought only that I was 
leaving all I held most dear; and it was not fear 
but sorrow which filled my heart with heaviness. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW. 

After leaving Granbigh Hold, I stayed • for a 
week, chaperoned by Mrs. Loveday, at a private hotel 
in one of the streets leading off Piccadilly. I wrote to 
Beta, telling her my address, and asking her if she 
could manage to come and see me. She came rush- 
ing in one afternoon about three o’clock. 

“ Mother has gone to a meeting at Exeter Hall,” 
she said, “ to save the lost or something ; and oh, 
Hester, I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve asked Bob 
to come here and meet me.” 

“ That’s what you call coming to see mCy I sup- 
pose,” I said, pretending to be offended. 

“ Oh, Hester, you know — oh, Hester, do you 
really mind? You know it isn’t because of that ; it’s 
because — and then he likes you so much.” 

“ I’ve no doubt he’s in love with me,” I replied, 
“ and that’s why he’s coming.” 

Beta looked positively alarmed for about two 
seconds, and then she smiled. 

“ You’re making fun,” she said, “ as you always 
do, and I know you don’t mind him coming a bit.” 

Then we sat down and began to talk. She had a 
great deal to tell me. Jesse had said good-bye and 
started for Liverpool two days ago, and Mrs. Pim- 
pernel was inconsolable. 


2II 


212 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


“ I can’t understand anybody being so sorry about 
Jesse’s going as Mother seems to be,” Beta remarked 
innocently. ” Of course he’s my brother, but ” 

“ But you don’t like him,” I put in, finishing the 
sentence for her. 

She hesitated, screwed up her face and said : 
'' No, I don’t. Of course,” she added in an apolo- 
getic tone, “ it might have been different if I had 
been brought up with him.” 

‘‘ No doubt,” I answered, willing to aid in the 
soothing of her conscience, though my private opin- 
ion was that the more one was with Jesse, the less 
one would be disposed to like him. But Beta’s 
chief piece of news was that “ it ” had happened 
at last, “ it ” being the formal proposal by Captain 
Lockwood for Beta’s hand. Mrs. Pimpernel had 
received the proposal in an undecided way ; she had 
neither accepted nor refused it ; she must have time, 
she said, to consider the question, and she would 
not define the limits of that time. This was too 
much for the suitor, who, his blood up, had de- 
clared that he must have an immediate answer, to 
which Mrs. Pimpernel had replied that an imme- 
diate answer meant an immediate refusal ; where- 
upon Captain Bobby — “ For my sake,” said Beta 
with ingenuous pride — had consented to submit to 
her terms. “ But Pm sure,” the narrator ended up, 
that he’ll never care much for Mother.” 

I heartily agreed with her, and then : So it’s all 
right you see, our meeting without Mother’s know- 
ing,” she went on, “ because we really are engaged. 
Why he’s given me a ring — Pve got it on this after- 
noon, though generally I can only wear it at night — 
and — and of course we mean to be married in the 
end, whether she consents or not. Pm of age ; and 


I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW. 


213 


weVe determined,” announced Beta with that naive 
endeavour after tragedy which always delighted me, 
“ weVe determined to take our fate into our own 
hands.” 

“ You bold, bad things,” I said. 

“ Bad ? Oh, no, Hester, you don’t really think 
so ? ” She looked quite grieved. 

“ No, dear adventuress, not at all.” 

“ Then why ? ” 

“ Oh, merely for the sake of alliteration,” I ex- 
plained. “ Brave would do quite as well. Bold and 
brave creatures, I congratulate you both ! ” 

It was soon after this that Captain Bobby ap- 
peared upon the scene. I discreetly said that I had 
a letter to write, for I knew that if it had been John 
who had come in, I would have given worlds, with 
all my affection for Beta, that she should have gone 
away for a time, and withdrew to my own room. I 
have sometimes wondered if all the letters that one 
“ has to write,” will ever, in the form of blank sheets 
of note paper, rise up in judgment against one ; if so, 
I added to my pile of accusers that day, for I did not 
write a line, but sat down by the window and looked 
idly into the street below till it should be tea time. 
Idly I watched the crowd of passers-by, all inde- 
pendent of each other, all bent upon separate aims, 
yet all moving, as though animated by a common 
impulse, in one of two directions. My hotel was 
not far from the Piccadilly end of the street, and 
from my bow window I could see into that thronged 
thoroughfare, and watch the concourse of people 
and vehicles without difficulty. Strange that there 
should be such a vast number of people in the world 
who were absolutely unknown to me ; strange that 
amongst all the many faces which passed me by. 


214 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

there should be no one face that I knew, not one 
that I either loved or — Stay — in that hansom edg- 
ing its way through the crowd, was that not — But of 
course not — it couldn’t be — it was quite impossible. 

How one’s fancies and one’s fears deceive one ! ” 
I remarked to myself as I pushed back my chair 
from the window. 

After tea Beta went to readjust her hat and veil 
in my room, and I was left for a few minutes alone 
— for Mrs. Loveday was out for the afternoon — with 
Captain Bobby. I don’t quite know what made me 
do it — sometimes I think that something inside one 
speaks without one’s reason and upper conscious- 
ness having anything to do with it — but suddenly 
I said to him : 

“ Do you like Beta’s relations ? ” 

“ No,” he returned, with a smile and the utmost 
candour. “ Do you ? ” 

“ Oh, of course I don’t,” I said. 

“ Why you in particular ? ” 

“ I don’t believe in them,” I said. 

“ I don’t quite follow.” 

I was afraid of saying too much. “ I think Mrs. 
Pimpernel’s rather a humbug, you know,” I an- 
swered. 

” Oh, I dare say,” returned Captain Bobby easily. 

Most people are who are both religious and dis- 
agreeable.” 

There was a pause, and then I said, very ab- 
ruptly I fear : “ Captain Lockwood, do you care for 
Beta very much ? ” 

He looked at me with an odd look of inquiry. 

I don’t mean to be impertinent,” I went on 
hurriedly. “ I have a really good reason for asking, 
but what I want to know is, would it make any 


I LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW. 


215 


difference to you in — in marrying her, if her belong- 
ings were good or bad ? ” 

“ Why should it ? ” he asked. “ When I marry 
Beta she belongs to mc.^’ 

“ You would stick to her,’" I persisted, “ in spite 
of everything? ” 

He answered me somewhat stiffly. “ I don’t 
exactly know what you mean. Miss Wynne, but I 
don’t quite see myself throwing over a girl I care 
about on account of her relations, if that’s what 
you’re after.” 

His voice and look told me more than his words, 
and I was encouraged to go on. “ I don’t expect 
you to understand me,” I said, “ and I can’t ex- 
plain myself ; but if — troubles and difficulties arose 
and I — was in need of help, of counsel, would it — 
might I ” 

He finished my stammering sentence for me. 
“ Of course I would do anything I could to help 
you,” he said, looking somewhat bewildered, but 
very kind, and I shouldn’t at all mind taking your 
part against Beta’s relations. I’m bound to quarrel 
with them sooner or later, and I shouldn’t myself 
mind if it were sooner.” 

There was no time to say anything more, for 
just then Beta came in, and presently she and 
Captain Bobby took their departure together. I sat 
down to consider the conversation that had taken 
place. I did not know quite what it was which had 
induced me to bring it about nor why I had pursued 
it. That half-hour during which I had looked out 
into Piccadilly had revived in me the undefined sense 
of evil to come, from which, since hearing of Jesse’s 
intended departure, I had for a time escaped, and it 
was this uncertain dread, I suppose, which had im- 


2i6 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 


pelled me towards finding out whether, in a crisis, 
I could dare to appeal to Beta’s lover for aid without 
imperilling Beta’s chances of happiness. Presum- 
ably I could, but perhaps, I thought, in a foolish 
ostrich-like attempt to hide from my own convic- 
tions, the need may never arise. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


I MAKE A PROMISE. 

I WENT with Mrs. Loveday to a charming house 
I had taken not far from Jenny’s farm. I had sent 
Jenny back the money she had lent me long ago, 
of course, and written to her to tell her of my 
safety. She was delighted at the idea of my settling 
down near her, but I did not look so well, she said, 
as she would have liked to see me. 

“ You’ve got a forlorn sort of look about you,” 
she remarked. “ You ought to have a husband to 
take care of you.” 

“ Oh, no, I shall never marry,” I announced 
with the unwavering certainty of youth. “ I expect 
to live here all my life, Jenny.” 

I led a strange, quiet life in my pretty house. 
Mrs. Loveday suited me very well as a chaperon : 
she left me alone and was not obtrusive in any way. 
Some of the neighbours called, and occasionally I 
went out to tea ; but I saw very few people, and I 
thought a great deal of John and his mother and all 
I had left behind me at Granbigh Hold. 

In the summer I wrote and asked Beta to come 
and stay with me. I hardly expected that Mrs. Pim- 
pernel would let her accept the invitation, but to 
my delight and surprise she was allowed to come, 
and one happy afternoon in the beginning of July, I 
drove my gray ponies to the station to meet her, 
15 217 


2i8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

She looked very distinguished, I thought, as she 
walked along the platform and more fashionable than 
ever. 

“ You’ll never look like a Christian worker,” I 
said, as we marched out of the little station. 

“ But I don’t want to,” Beta said with her wide- 
eyed look. 

I laughed. “ No, but your mother does.” 

‘‘ Oh, Mother ! ” There was an odd tone in her 
voice, I thought, and her face which had been so 
bright at our meeting became clouded and anxious. 
She assured me, however, that there was nothing the 
matter, and almost immediately began to ask me 
questions about myself. 

“ I never thought Mrs. Pimpernel would let you 
come,” I said presently. 

“ Oh, yes,” Beta answered, “ she says she is most 
anxious there should be no unfriendly feeling be- 
tween us, and hopes we shall often exchange visits.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about exchanging/' I said. 
“ I could never go and stay at your house. Beta.” 

Couldn’t you ? Oh, Hester, but you might ! ” 

I couldn’t think what was the matter with Beta ; 
she seemed unduly distressed as she spoke, and all 
the way home and after we got home, I thought her 
manner curiously nervous and unlike herself. Per- 
haps, I thought, it was because we had not met for 
so long, and were not quite at our ease with one 
another; yet on my side I felt no embarrassment in 
being with Beta, and it was unlike her direct, simple 
nature to let absence affect our friendship. The 
idea of her having been prejudiced against me, I 
did not for one moment entertain, trusting her loyalty 
thoroughly. I fancied she rather evaded my ques- 
tions about Captain Bobby : things were going on 


I MAKE A PROMISE. 


219 


in the same way, as when we had last met, I 
gathered from her somewhat scanty and hesitating 
replies, but nothing was settled. 

“ Perhaps she’s worried about her engagement,” 
I thought that night after I had left her in her room 
and gone to my own, “ and that makes her seem 
different ; or perhaps it’s what I’ve so often heard, 
that people really do change after they are engaged. 
I’m second of course now, instead of first, but still, 
it didn’t seem to make any difference or any awk- 
wardness between us before.” There must be some- 
thing besides the mere fact of Beta’s engagement I 
felt sure, to account for her nervousness and want 
of spirits, and I determined, if possible, to break 
down the barrier which seemed to have reared itself 
between us. But it was not easy. After a day or 
tw^o, certainly, she became more like her old self, and 
we had many happy, careless hours together; but I 
could not get over the impression that she had some- 
thing on her mind which she was hiding from me, 
she, who had never before in all the years we had 
been together, kept back the slightest thing that had 
happened to her; and the impression made me 
uneasy. 

Mrs. Loveday was delighted with Beta. “ Such a 
charming girl,” she said. “ I don’t wonder you are 
fond of her. And I’m sure,” she added, “ that you 
did not do her brother justice. A brother and sister 
could not be so widely different as you suppose.” 

“ You and I will never agree about Jesse Pim- 
pernel,” I answered with a laugh. Yes, I laughed, 
for I could afford to laugh now that Jesse was miles 
and miles away, with that wide Atlantic ocean and 
all its storms between him and me. Mrs. Pimpernel 
had heard from him twice since his arrival in 


220 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

America, Beta said, and seemed more reconciled 
now to his having gone. 

“ I only hope he’ll stay there,” I said with a 
glance at Mrs. Loveday, who expressed, by a little 
shake of the head, her disapproval of my uncharitable 
attitude, as she considered it. 

“ Oh, I hope so,” Beta echoed, with a fervour so 
much greater than my own, as to startle me and to 
cause Mrs. Loveday to drop her knitting. 

At last it came to the evening before Beta’s re- 
turn home. We had both been rather depressed all 
day, and Beta was more nervous and strange than 
ever, utterly unlike the girl I had known a few 
months ago. It was a lovely evening, mild, soft and 
sweet, and after dinner I proposed that we should go 
for a stroll in the fir tree avenue which ran from the 
house right down to the road which divided my 
grounds from Jenny’s farm. Always in that avenue 
there was a sound as of the sea, sometimes tempes- 
tuous and wild, sometimes a mere murmur, as of 
distant, gently breaking waves ; but never have I 
walked along that aisle of trees without hearing the 
sea voice utter itself through the branches. To-night 
it spoke very softly, and the beautiful evening light 
had not yet been vanquished by the dusk, as Beta 
and I strolled down between the fields which 
stretched away on either side of the trees. We were 
silent at first, for somehow that reserve of Beta’s had 
caused a slight awkwardness between us. I made 
one or two casual, unmeaning remarks, to which she 
replied in an absent way, and then, very abruptly, 
and with an effort, as I felt : 

“ Hester,” she said, “ you will come and stay with 
us, won’t you ? I may tell Mother that you’ll come, 
when we go away for the summer ? ” 


I MAKE A PROMISE. 221 

“ No, I told I couldn’t come,” I answered. 

“ And surely you must see how awkward it would be 
for me after what has passed.” 

‘‘ But I want you so much,” she implored, and 
truly she looked as if her whole happiness depended 
on my answer. 

” I’ll come up for the day and see you before you ‘ 
go,” I said. ” You know it isn’t because I don’t 
want to be with you ; you know I miss you fright- 
fully. But surely, surely, Beta, you must see how 
impossible it is.” 

“ I came to you,” she replied in a dogged sort 
of way. 

“ That’s quite different, and you know it is ? ” 

“ No, I don’t. x\nd I came to you first.” 

Her look, her voice, her whole manner were so 
entirely different from anything I had ever known 
in her before that I was puzzled as well as disposed 
to be angry. I was about to answer hotly, when 
suddenly the absurdity of quarrelling with Beta came 
over me. 

“ Oh, Beta, Beta ! ” I cried, “ don’t let us be 
ridiculous and quarrel ! Come now. I’ll make a 
bargain with you. When you’re married. I’ll come 
and stay with you as long as ever you like ! ” 

“ I shall never be married,” she said wildly, ‘‘ if 
you don’t come.” 

I looked at her in amazement; either she was 
mad, or I was, or there was something very extraor- 
dinary behind all this. 

” Come and sit down,” I said, and I led her by 
the hand to a fallen branch which served very well 
for a seat. Now,” I said, '' what’s the meaning 
of it all?” 

She looked at me miserably, but said nothing. 


222 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Out with it,” I went on. “ You’ve got to tell 
me just what’s the matter, and put an end to this 
ridiculous reserve which has stood between us — you 
know it has — through the whole of your visit.” 

” I can't tell you. It’s only that — that Mother 
wants you so much to come and stay, and — and I 
knew you wouldn’t.” 

” But I cannot see why that should cause a breach 
between us, or why there should be any mystery 
about it. Nor can I believe that Mrs. Pimpernel 
can be the least desirous of ever having me in her 
house again.” 

“ She says that it makes a scandal, that after living 
with us all those years, people think it so odd that 
you never — that unpleasant things have been said — 
and that it would be the only way to stop the talk- 
ing.” 

” I don’t care about the talking. They can say 
what they like as far as I’m concerned.” 

“ But she said I must persuade you.” 

Beta seemed to me much more distressed than the 
occasion warranted, and I felt rather vexed with her 
for being, as I thought, so exaggeratedly concerned. 

“ Must is not for mortals,” I rejoined. “ You 
can tell her you did your best and failed.” 

She did not answer, and for awhile I sat quite 
still and listened to that low sound in the tree-tops 
and felt the dusk come creeping over the fields. By- 
and-bye I heard an odd little gasping beside me and 
looked round. Beta was crying. Instantly my 
vexation vanished. 

“ Beta, Beta, whatever is the matter? ” 

Then her tears flowed freely. 

“ It — it means so much to me'' she sobbed. 

'' What does ? ” I asked, at my wits’ end. Oh, 


I MAKE A PROMISE. 


’223 

dear, dear girl, do for heaven’s sake, explain to me 
what you mean ! ” 

“ I meant not to tell you, because I — I don’t want 
to influence you. But she says — Mother says, that 
she will never allow me to marry while there’s a 
slur upon the family.” 

“ What nonsense I ” I exclaimed indignantly. 
“ And besides that’s a question for Bobby, not for 
her.” 

“ Yes, of course,” Beta agreed eagerly, “ and of 
course he doesn’t mind.” 

“ There’s nothing to mind,” I put in. 

“ No there isn’t. But she says — ” and Beta 
grew agitated again — “ she says that if you won’t 
come, the engagement must be broken off.” 

“ Run away,” I suggested. 

“Yes,” said Beta uncertainly, “only Bob’s only 
got his pay, you see, just now, except what his 
uncle allows him, though he will be very rich ; 
and he’d much rather do it fair and square, as he 
says, because he doesn’t know what effect a run- 
away marriage would have upon his uncle, who is 
rather a particular old gentleman, it seems.” 

“ Hem ! ” I said, and sat and thought awhile. 
“ So it comes to this,” I went on presently, “ that 
you were allowed to come on this visit in order to 
try and persuade me to go and stay with your 
mother, and the threat of separating you from your 
Bobby was used to spur you on.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Beta. “ You always see into 
things so clearly, Hester.” 

“ This stone wall has more holes in it than most,” 
I rejoined. “ But why on earth,” I added, “ didn’t 
you tell me all this before ? ” 

“ Oh, I wanted to, and it’s made me so miserable 


224 


THE STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


all the time, and I felt underhanded, trying to per- 
suade you for my own advantage and not telling you 
the reason. But I was so afraid that if I did, you 
would come because of what it meant to me, and 
I knew you wouldn’t want to.” 

” Of course I would,” I said, “ and will. And 
you might just as well have told me at the beginning, 
for you’re not a bit of good at hiding things.” 

“No, I’m not,” she agreed humbly. “Only — 
only, you’re not really coming, Hester.” 

“ Yes, I am. Of course I am.” For what else 
could I do? I thought. 

“ But you’ll hate it so ! ” 

It was delightful to see Beta’s face, sweet and 
happy as I used to know it. 

“ I dare say there may be a certain amount of 
hate going about,” I answered, “ during my visit ; 

ut it won’t last for ever, and when you’re married, 
I need never go near your family again.” 

So we settled it, and the dusk was turned into 
sunshine for Beta that evening, I could see. For my 
part, I felt a sort of chill and loneliness creep into 
my spirit. Was it that Beta was going away to- 
morrow and I knew how much I should miss her? 
Was it that the promise I had given, cast upon me a 
foreshadowing of fear? or was it simply that the 
sound in the tree-tops had changed to a sort of moan, 
and that the dusk had overtaken and swallowed the 
last of the evening light? 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


I REMEMBER A FACE AND SEE A VISION. 

Mrs. Pimpernel had taken a house in Scotland, 
within thirty miles or so of the east coast and pretty 
far north. She tried hard to persuade me to pay my 
visit in September; but I had promised to spend a 
few days with Mr. Crosbitt and his sister in Mid- 
lothian the end of that month, and another few days 
with some friends of my father’s whom I had never 
seen, and as it suited Mrs. Loveday better to go 
away in the late autumn, I wrote to my godmotl^ 
and said that I could not be with her till Octol^r, 
and that I feared, if she could not receive me then 
that the visit would have to fall through. Upon that 
she replied that of course she would be pleased to 
have me at any time, though September was a better 
month for enjoying myself and she knew that I would 
wish to be a great deal out of doors. 

I started for Scotland with not too light a heart. 
My first visit was to be to strangers; my second 
would not be much better, for I knew Mr. Crosbitt 
very little and his sister not at all ; and beyond 
loomed that fortnight which I had promised to spend 
with Mrs. Pimpernel. I dreaded it before I left 
Chalfont, I dreaded it as I travelled north, I dreaded 
it through many of the days and most of the nights 
which I spent in Midlothian and Ayrshire; and 
though I told myself I was ridiculous’ and morbid 

225 


226 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

and a coward, I dreaded it nevertheless. My journey 
from London to Edinburgh was uneventful, save for 
one incident, curious perhaps, but in no way, as I 
told myself, really remarkable. As I made my way 
along the platform at Euston, I passed, getting into 
a third-class carriage a figure which in some way 
was known to me. How, I could not at first tell, 
and memory’s suggestions, elusive as they sometimes 
are, flitted for some half-hour to no purpose through 
my brain. Then suddenly I remembered — my walk 
in the garden with John, the pair of eyes through the 
grille ; the figure was the figure of the man we had 
found loitering outside the gate at Granbigh Hold, 
dimly seen, yet firmly stamped upon the background 
of my observation. It was something in the nature 
of a coincidence that we should be travelling north 
together, and at each stopping place I found myself 
on the look-out to see whether he left the train. I 
did not see anything of him all the way, but at Edin- 
burgh, hurrying along the platform, I met him face 
to face. As I passed him we exchanged glances, 
and I fancied somehow that there was recognition 
in his eyes. Soon, however, the thought of him 
passed from my mind; I found myself at my jour- 
ney’s end in a house full of gay and happy people, 
intent upon amusing themselves; and during the 
days I spent in their company my mind dwelt but 
little on the past or the future. 

At Mr. Crosbitt’s, I had more leisure in which to 
think, and as my visit to Mrs. Pimpernel was now 
very near, the prospect of it began again to cast a 
shadow on my spirit. I strove against the shadow, 
more especially as there seemed no substance for its 
origin, for Mr. Crosbitt’s view of the case was surely 
the natural and sensible one. 


I REMEMBER A FACE AND SEE A VISION. 22 ^ 

“ So you and your godmother have agreed to for- 
get and forgive, Miss Hester,” he said. “ I’m very 
glad of it, for Mrs. Pimpernel, though she likes to 
be commander-in-chief and is a bit dour, as they 
say here, at times, can be a staunch friend. It is 
generous of her to have made advances after your 
little falling out, and I am very glad that you, on 
your side, have had the generosity and the good 
sense to meet her half-way.” 

How could I tell him after such a speech, that 
my opinion of my godmother was far other than his, 
that my generosity was swallowed in doubts and my 
good sense in forebodings? If that day in his office 
I had followed my impulse and told him all that was 
in my heart, that day when his talk of my mother had 
let loose a spring of kindly indulgent feeling towards 
her daughter, perhaps I might have been tempted to 
tell him of the trouble, fanciful though it might be, 
that darkened now every day ; perhaps when a letter 
came from Mrs. Pimpernel, saying that there was but 
small accommodation for servants at Glamarnie and 
that therefore she was sorry to be unable to take in 
my maid, I might have told him of the dread which 
that letter stimulated: but prosaic, common-sense, 
hard-headed lawyer and man of the world as he was, 
I could not without preface confess to him my fears, 
especially since, as I have said before, those fears 
when actually formulated, appeared even to my own 
judgment, utterly unreasonable. So I kept silence, 
and the days went by, and it came to the last night 
before I left Mr. Crosbitt’s house. On that night I 
had a kind of repetition of the experience I had had 
in the garden at Granbigh Hall. 

My^niaid had finished brushing my hair and had 
left the room, and I was sitting by the dressing table. 


228 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


my eyes fixed upon the flame of my candle, and my 
thoughts vague and dreamy, when again my con- 
sciousness seemed to dwindle and fade, and again the 
gray mist rose up and blotted out the world and 
parted and showed me a scene which my physical 
eyes had never beheld. I saw a small bare room, 
dimly lighted, scantily furnished, and in the middle 
of it, sitting writing at a table, Jesse Pimpernel. It 
was hardly there before it was gone again, and 
then once more I passed through the veil of gray 
and came back to normal consciousness. It was 
very clear, the vision, though it lasted but a moment, 
and I remembered afterwards, I can remember 
now, every detail of the room and Jesse’s exact 
attitude. The scene came back to me when I woke 
in the night, and I wondered if veritably Jesse were 
sitting in such a room, in such a pose, and if the 
great Atlantic sea separated me from that which I 
had seen. 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 


I ARRIVE AT GLAMARNIE. 

It was a tedious journey to Ballarat, the station 
where I left the train for Glamarnie, and after the 
railway journey came a long drive of some ten or 
eleven miles. Very lonely the road was, I thought, 
and very far off seemed my destination from town 
or village or any kind of house. I had nobody to 
speak to, for in consequence of Mrs. Pimperneks 
letter I had been obliged to send my maid home 
again from Mr. Crosbitt’s, and the driver, perched up 
before me, was uncommunicative and seemed in no 
wise disposed for conversation. Nevertheless I was 
not unhappy during that drive, or depressed ; for now 
that I was so near the bugbear of my thoughts, it 
seemed less terrible than I had pictured it at a dis- 
tance ; and then the hills reminded me of Ireland, 
and the prospect of seeing Beta gave me a thrill 
of gladness and banished her mother from my mind. 
At last we came to a gate, and the gate opened into 
a drive, which, I managed to learn from my surly 
driver, was the entrance to Glamarnie. It must have 
been about a mile long and ran between two rows of 
Scotch firs, which on the one side stood clear against 
the sky, and on the other were backed by a thickly 
grown covert. The drive wound gradually upwards, 
and the carriage moved slowly, so that I began to 

229 


230 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

wonder when I should reach the house. At last I 
saw it, a gray square building, two storeys in height 
and somewhat grim in aspect. It stood on a sort 
of mound, bare in front, but with trees and under- 
growth at the farther side and covering the raised 
ground at the back ; and encircling the whole of this 
mound, — as I found afterwards, for the approach to 
the house showed only part of it, — was a moat, wide 
and deep, crossed by a wooden bridge. In the 
centre of the bridge, was a gate, or rather a door, 
for it was made of solid beams which left no aper- 
ture, and this gate, as I soon learned, was locked 
every evening at sunset. Just now it stood open, 
and presently we had crossed the bridge and a space 
of small loose stones, and had drawn up before the 
door of the house. A servant whom I did not know 
came in answer to my knock, and showed , me into 
a room — the drawing-room, as I supposed — where, 
almost immediately Mrs. Pimpernel appeared. She 
greeted me with a great show of cordiality, but evi- 
dently felt, as I felt, that the situation was an awk- 
ward one, and I think we were both glad when Beta 
came in. Beta’s manner, like her mother’s, was 
somewhat constrained, I thought, and she hardly 
seemed so pleased to see me as I had expected she 
would be. 

‘‘ You will like to go to your room, Hester,” Mrs. 
Pimpernel said presently ; “ or will you have tea 
first? It is just coming in.” 

I will have tea first, please,” I said. 

I was, indeed, both cold and hungry after my 
long drive, and I thought, too, that if I went to my 
room after tea. Beta would come with me and we 
could have a long talk. But after tea it was Mrs. 
Pimpernel herself who played the part of conductor. 


I ARRIVE AT GLAMARNIE. 


231 


“ Aren’t you coming? ” I said to Beta. 

Her mother answered for her. “ Beta has some- 
thing to do for me just now.” 

My room was at the side of the house, on the 
ground floor, and there was nothing to be seen from 
the window but thick shrubbery and the upper part 
of the tall hills beyond. Mrs. Pimpernel led the way, 
and when I had followed her into the room she 
turned back and shut the door. 

“ I am glad to have you in my house again, 
Hester,” she said in her pompous way. 

“ Thank you,” I replied hesitatingly, for I knew 
that I was anything but glad to be there. I hope we 
shall be friends again now,” she went on. 

“ I should be glad to be friends with you on 
Beta’s account,” I answered. 

“ You cannot, of course, be friends with her with- 
out being friends with me.” 

“ Not at present, I suppose.” 

She took my meaning at once. “ Beta’s future is 
enirely in my hands. She does not marry if scan- 
dal attaches to her name.” 

“ All the more reason to change it,” I said 
with that unfortunate flippancy which from time 
to time came over me in the presence of Mrs. 
Pimpernel. 

She went on without heeding me. “ If you bring 
scandal upon us, you ruin her chance of happiness.” 

“ Why should I bring scandal upon you ? ” I 
enquired. 

“ Why indeed, when all might go well without 
it ? ” she replied enigmatically. “ But you did once.” 

“ It wasn’t my fault. Jesse should have left me 
alone.” 

“ Jesse loves you,” she said. If her glance could 


232 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

have spoken, it would have added : “ And I hate 
you.” 

There was a hardly perceptible space of silence, 
and then she came close to me and put a hand on 
each of my shoulders ; the heaviness of the pressure 
made me feel as if I must sink under its weight. 

Jesse loves you,” she repeated. ” If you would 
believe it and would trust your heart, you could be 
very happy with him.” 

Having spoken, she released me, turned away, 
and walked out of the room with her usual measured 
step, closing the door behind her. 

I sat down on the chair nearest at hand in a state 
of bewilderment. Such a strange beginning to my 
visit as this, I had never imagined, and I could not 
get over Mrs. Pimpernel’s extraordinary conversa- 
tion. Was she acting as ambassador for her son? 
Had I been induced to come to this far place to be 
plied with protestations and arguments on behalf of 
Jesse? and did she imagine that anything of the kind 
could have the smallest effect upon me? Looking 
back now, I believe that she found it difficult to 
realise the possibility of resisting Jesse’s fascinations ; 
I believe she honestly thought — up to that time, at 
any rate — that if I could be persuaded out of the 
idea that he had tried to injure me, I could not but 
consent to give him myself and all that I possessed ; 
and knowing the exigencies of his position, she was 
ready to bury her dislike of me in her desire to save 
him, salving her conscience in regard to her dead 
friend, by the argument that I should be happy 
enough in the end. I believe all this now, and, by 
the light of after events, I understand her strong 
desire to persuade me to Jesse’s will ; but at the time 
I was thoroughly bewildered, and I sat for fully half 


I ARRIVE AT GLAMARNIE. 


233 


an hour, wondering what it all meant. I wondered 
too, why Beta did no come to me ; she could surely 
have nothing to do that would keep her away after 
being separated from me for months. She did not 
come, however ; the only person who came near me 
was the servant who had opened the door and who 
said that Mrs. Pimpernel had sent her to ask if she 
could help me with my unpacking. I had not liked 
the woman’s face from the first, and I declined her 
offer, saying that I could quite well do all that was 
necessary. When I had unpacked and had written 
to Mrs. Sullivan to tell her of my safe arrival, it 
was getting on for seven o’clock, and I dressed for 
dinner before finding my way back to the drawing- 
room. 

“ You seem to have all new servants,” I said to 
Mrs. Pimpernel, for, as I passed the dining-room, I 
had seen a man whom I did not know engaged in 
laying the table. 

“ Yes, I thought I would take the opportunity 
of coming over here to make a thorough change.” 

” Pm sorry,” I said ; and I was, for I had been 
on good terms with the servants at Regent’s Gate 
and should have been glad of the sight of their 
friendly faces. 

The conversation at dinner did not run easily : 
Mrs. Pimpernel was inclined to be silent and was 
more jerky than her wont, and Beta was constrained 
and I could not but think depressed. I was uneasy 
too at her appearance ; her face was thinner, there 
were deep marks under her eyes, and her hair had 
lost some of its brightness. But it was her expres- 
sion which puzzled and distressed me most : the 
child-like, contented look had gone and was replaced 
by an anxious, watchful air which was strangely out 
16 


234 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

of keeping with her natural disposition : I was sure 
she was unhappy and I longed to know the reason. 
But all that evening I had no opportunity of learn- 
ing it. I suggested going out into the garden after 
dinner, but Mrs. Pimpernel said that Beta had had 
a cold and must beware of the damp ; and all through 
the hour and a half that we sat upright and uncom- 
fortable in the drawing-room — I horribly conscious 
of not being engaged upon garments for South 
Africa — the conversation was, of course, of the most 
superficial kind only. At bedtime, however, I 
thought, at bedtime, the long deferred talk would 
take place, and I looked forward to hearing from 
Beta all that had happened since we had last met 
and which had not been communicated in her rare 
and somewhat stiff letters, and what her prospects 
were for the future. But again disappointment 
awaited me, for Beta said good-night to me in the 
hall and went upstairs with only one quick deprecat- 
ing glance as she turned away. It was too much 
for me. 

“ Aren’t you coming to my room ? ” I cried. 

Her mother answered for her. “ Beta is obliged 
to keep early hours just now.” 

“ Then I will come to your room. Beta, and stay 
only till you are in bed.” 

Again Mrs. Pimpernel answered. “ Beta finds it 
is better not to talk the last thing at night.” 

“ At any rate I must see where her room is,” I 
said, and I brushed past Mrs. Pimpernel’s portly 
figure which almost blocked the way, and springing 
up the stairs two steps at a time, overtook Beta as 
she reached the top. The stairs ended on a landing 
from which passages branched, right and left. 

“ Come on ! ” I said. 


I ARRIVE AT GLAMARNIE. 


235 

“ I must wait,” she answered, in a breathless sort 
of way, “ for Mother.” 

Her words, her look, her tone, so took me aback 
that I could answer nothing, and presently, accom- 
panied by both mother and daughter, I found myself 
walking silently along the passage to the right. 
Beta’s room was at the very end, looking to the back 
of the house, with the window, as I afterwards found 
almost on a level with the ground — though it was 
on the first floor — owing to the steepness of the rise 
on which the house was built. 

“ My room is just opposite,” remarked Mrs. 
Pimpernel, and then, for the second time, she said 
good-night, and there was nothing left for me but to 
find my way downstairs again and back to my own 
room. 

I undressed and made myself ready for sleep, but 
I did not get into bed ; instead, I put on my dressing- 
gown and sat down and waited till the house was 
absolutely still. Then, very softly, I opened my 
door, and stole out of my room and upstairs. I 
would not be done out of my talk with Beta, I re- 
solved, for I felt convinced that she really wanted 
to speak to me and that Mrs. Pimpernel for one 
reason or another wished to prevent our being alone 
together ; and I was determined that my ex-guardian 
should not have her way. I left my candle on the 
landing, for I was afraid of the light creeping in under 
Mrs. Pimpernel’s door, but it sent a faint glimmer 
along the passage sufficient to guide my steps. In 
my felt slippers I moved quite noiselessly, and I 
reached Beta’s door m safety. I put my hand on the 
handle and turned it — or tried to turn it; but in 
vain ; it hardly moved ; the door was locked. Again 
and again I tried, and still with no success. Did I 


236 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

make a faint sound in the effort? Did Beta hear me ? 
I couldn’t tell, but presently I thought I heard a 
whisper, and I took my hand from the door and lis- 
tened intently. 

“ Go away,” it seemed to breathe. “ The door is 

locked ” And then, after a momentary pause : 

“ from the outside.” 

So it was no use : Beta was locked in. Crest- 
fallen, alarmed, bewildered, I took my way back to 
my own room, entered it, locked the door and sat 
down on the edge of the bed to consider what it all 
might mean. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


THE TAP ON THE WINDOW. 

Consideration brought me no nearer to a con- 
clusion. Mrs. Pimpernel had evidently decreed that 
Beta and I were not to meet privately, but what her 
reasons were for such a decree, I could not know. 
Ignorance made me suspicious, and I found in her 
conduct a danger signal. All sorts of fears con- 
fronted me, and the sense that I was helpless in this 
lonely place, cut of¥ from the succour of those who 
might have helped me, and separated by more than 
distance from the one man who believed in the reality 
of my perils, made my heart quail in spite of my 
efforts to brace it I don’t know how long I sat there 
on the side of the bed, but at last I told myself that 
the best thing I could do was to lie down and go to 
sleep, so as to keep myself, as far as possible, physi- 
cally well. The long drive in the mountain air had 
made me more inclined to sleep than I was aware of, 
and when once I was in bed I was soon on the way 
to forgetfulness. I don’t know whether I had dozed 
quite off, or whether I had gone no further than that 
hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, when the 
consciousness is hardly sufficiently acute to enable 
one to realise and enjoy to the full the delicious ap- 
proach of slumber; but suddenly I was wide awake 
again, my senses on the alert, my hearing, especially, 

237 


238 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

preternaturally keen. For it was sound which, 
penetrating to my brain, had roused me so abruptly ; 
sound, not loud, nor continuous, but faint, inter- 
mittent, and yet, as I lay and listened, persistently 
repeated. Soon I gathered what it was — a tapping 
on the window pane, gentle but distinct. At first 
fear held me, and I was minded to escape from the 
room ; then, presently, that other side of my nature, 
the side that fought the coward in me, roused itself 
and rose up, and gathering up the reins of my im- 
pulses, urged me, as a rider urges an unwilling horse, 
to go and investigate the thing which frightened me. 
I rose and crossed the room ; by the faint light of 
the night light I could see the curtains flutter slightly 
in the draught from the faulty window frame, and as 
I drew nearer, I could hear the soft patter of rain 
upon the glass. The night had turned sullen, and 
the wind was sighing pitifully through the trees. 
“ Perhaps,” I thought, ” some little branch or twig 
it is that I hear, driven against the pane by the 
breeze.” 

I pulled aside the curtain, and started and drew 
back, for no twig or branch was it that disturbed me : 
close up to the window a figure stood, dim and gray, 
and made signs to me to let it in. I hesitated. “ Hes- 
ter, Hester ! ” I heard the voice but faintly, yet I 
heard ; and in an instant the window was open, and 
the figure came huddling into the room. It was 
Beta; Beta, with her nightgown covered by a long 
cloak, her hair damp with the rain, her feet unclad, 
save for the soft bedroom slippers into which she 
had thrust them. 

I looked at her in a sort of horror. “ What does 
it mean?” I said, “What does it mean. Beta?” 
For it could only be some desperate cause, I thought. 


THE TAP ON THE WINDOW. 


239 

which could have brought her to me in such a way 
and at such an hour. 

“ I had to come — I had to tell you,” 

I saw now how thin her face had become, and 
never, never before had I seen that look in Beta’s 
tranquil eyes. 

“To tell me what? And how did you get out? 
You were locked — didn’t you tell me? — locked in?” 

“ Yes, it was the window ; I can quite easily reach 
the ground, you see.” 

“Oh, Beta! And on such a night! You are 
cold,” I said, and took her hands and chafed them ; 
and indeed she was trembling all over. 

“ I had to tell you,” she repeated, “ I had to tell 
you. Whatever they do or may do to me, I will be 
loyal to you, Hester. I will not — will not ” 

She was so agitated, my poor girl, and so un- 
happy and so changed, that I forgot my own fears 
in my concern and pity for her. I took a warm 
shawl from the wardrobe and wrapped her in it, and 
I made her sit in the arm-chair and put a blanket 
about her feet. Then presently, when she was a 
little less breathless : 

“What is it, my dear?” I said. “Tell me, and 
don’t be afraid. I can bear it, whatever it is. We 
will bear it together, stick close and true to each 
other, and it is sure to come right in the end.” 

“ Oh,” she said, and her wide round eyes grew 
wider, “ it is bad — I don’t quite know — but it is bad 
— bad — and I don’t know how to save you.” 

“To save me! But from what? Beta, dear 
Beta, try and tell me quite quietly what you 
mean.” 

“From Jesse,” she whispered. “Jesse is — a 
devil.” Her look as she said the last word, the word 


240 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

itself, so unlike anything I had ever heard from kind, 
careless, simple Beta before, struck me with a chill 
of dread that for a moment paralysed me, and left 
me staring blankly into her face. Then the necessity 
for knowing what it was that threatened me, for ar- 
ranging in some way to flee from or to meet it, 
spurred my mind to activity. 

“ But Jesse,’’ I said, “ Jesse’s in America.” 

” I’m not sure,” she breathed ; and then I remem- 
bered the crowd in Piccadilly as I had watched it 
from the hotel window, and the face I thought I had 
caught a glimpse of in a hansom; and I knew that 
great evil lay before me. 

” Tell me from the very beginning,” I said, “ tell 
me from the time you stayed with me. Did you 
know anything then ? ” 

” Oh, MO.” Her glance was a reproach to me. 
“ I knew only what I told you — that Mother said 
if you didn’t come and stay with us, I should never 
be allowed to marry Bob ; and I never dreamed that 
Jesse had anything to do with it; I just thought that 
it was what she said, that the breach between us 
made a scandal. I would never, never, if I had 
known, never have asked you to come.” 

“ But Jesse? What had he to do with it? ” 
Everything. He arranged it all — everything 
from the very beginning — our coming over here and 
your being persuaded to come and stay with us, and 
the consent to my marriage being put off till I had 
done all he wanted.” 

“ Has he consented now? ” 

“ Oh, no, and never will. I had a letter.” 

“ From Jesse, do you mean? or from Bob?” 

“ From Jesse. They have stopped — stopped me 
writing to Bob.” 


THE TAP ON THE WINDOW. 


241 

“ How outrageous ! ” I exclaimed. “ Why ? 
What excuse do they give ? ” 

“ She says, Mother does, that I don’t know my 
own mind, and that there must be no communication 
between us, till I am back in London.” 

” Most men would give the thing up altogether,” 
I said. 

Yes — and I don’t know — but I don’t think so 
— onlv of course Jesse will do his utmost, if 1 
don’t-^ ” 

“ Tell me about the letter,” I said. 

“ It was from Jesse. Mother gave it to me — it 
was enclosed in one of hers. It was such a cruel 
letter, Hester.” Beta looked more like herself as 
she finished the sentence, for the tears came into 
her eyes and hid the strained, frightened look in 
them. 

“ Go on,” I said. “ Tell me what he said.” 

“ He said that I was in his power, that he could 
stop my marriage easily, and would, if I did not obey 
him in everything, and that if I did not do just as 
I was told, if I turned against him and betrayed him, 
there would be such a scandal, that no decent man 
would have anything to say to me.” 

‘‘ But what did he want you to do ? ” 

“ I don’t know — I don’t know what he means in 
the end, but I was to do just what Mother told me, 
and I know that they mean I am to tell you nothing 
of what I suspect or know, nothing that goes on. I 
don’t know much — it’s kept from me ; but they don’t 
trust me and they are afraid of my speaking to you, 
of warning you, and that’s why I’m not allowed to 
be alone with you.” 

What do you suspect ? What do you know ? ” 
I asked breathlessly. I was kneeling in front of 


I 


242 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

Beta; my hands were on hers as they lay upon her 
lap ; our eyes met in a direct intensity of gaze. 

I suspect he’s not far away ; I know he’s not in 
America.” 

“ How— how?” 

“ Mother left the letter for a minute on the table 
— it was at breakfast, and she was called away. I 
saw there was only a penny stamp on it, and then I 
looked at the postmark.” 

” Well?” 

‘‘ It was London.” 

“ He never went,” I said with conviction. 

“ No. I’m sure of it. Then I tried to warn you, 
I tried to write, but I knew that for a long time 
Mother had never let my letters go without seeing 
them.” 

“ You might have sealed them.” 

The sealed ones never went at all. And over 
here I had no chance of ever getting out to post them. 
I believe they came so far away to cut me off from 
everything.” 

And to cut me off.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And your mother ? ” 

“ I can’t make her out. She’s afraid, I believe ; 
and sometimes at night I can hear her in her room, 
sort of moaning, and talking to herself it seems like. 
But in the daytime she’s cold and silent, and keeps 
me working harder than ever at those missionary 
things.” 

The rain was heavier now ; we could hear it dis- 
tinctly against the window, and the rising wind spoke 
with a note of warning. 

''We must send a telegram,” I said. 

"To whom?” 


THE TAP ON THE WINDOW. 


243 


“ To Bobby.” 

“ They won’t let you.” 

“ Whom do you mean by they? ” 

“ Mother, and that new maid of hers, Manningby. 
One of them will be always with us.” 

” Somehow I will find a way. After all they can’t 
make me a prisoner.” 

Beta still looked fixedly at me. “ I don’t know,” 
she said. 

“ Not,” I declared, “ at the very beginning. And, 
Beta, whatever comes, we will stand together.” 

” Whatever comes, whatever they do to me, I 
will be true to you, Hester.” 

By a common impulse we both rose, feeling that 
our conference was at an end, and that, for that 
night there was nothing more to be said or done. 
Together we went over to the window ; I unfastened 
it, and she stood for a moment on the threshold. It 
was very dark outside now, and all the foliage was 
astir with the wind and the pelting rain. 

“ If we ran away? — now? ” I said. 

She shook her head. “ There is the moat, and 
the gate is always locked.” 

She stepped out into the night. 

“ You will be soaked,” I said. 

“ That’s nothing,” she answered, “ beside the 
rest.” 

She disappeared in the darkness, and I, very 
gently, shut to the window and shivering, crept into 
bed, and lay pondering till, with the dawn, came a 
ray of courage and of hope, and I fell into an uneasy 
sleep. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


MRS. pimpernel’s manceuvres. 

It would be no more difficult, I had reflected, 
during those wakeful hours in the night, to send 
Captain Bobby a letter than a telegram, and the first 
thing I did when I woke in the morning was to 
write to him. 

“ Dear Captain Lockwood,” I wrote, — “ Do 
you remember our conversation at Fielding’s Hotel ? 
The time has come to prove your loyalty. Beta is 
a prisoner in her mother’s house, watched, fright- 
ened, unhappy, and there is worse before her. If 
you love her, and do not want to lose her for ever, 
you must come and take her away by force or 
stratagem. Come to the hotel at Ballarat — call your- 
self Mr. Roberts, and wait till you hear from me. 
If you get this (for I may be prevented posting it) 
telegraph to me: Cousin very ill; going North 
Wales ; and sign it Loveday. You may think me 
mad, but I implore you to come on the off chance 
of my being sane ; and whatever you do, don’t write 
to me. Hester Wynne.” 

I addressed and sealed this letter and put it in 
my pocket before going in to breakfast. The writ- 
ing it had made me late — not for breakfast, but for 
244 


MRS. PIMPERNEL’S MANOEUVRES. 


245 


prayers, and I stood outside the dining-room door 
and listened to my ex-guardian’s toneless voice as 
she went through her usual formulas : for the Mrs. 
Pimpernel of Glamarnie was, as far as outward re- 
ligious observances were concerned, the Mrs. Pim- 
pernel whom I had known for so many years at 
Regent’s Gate ; and when I entered the room, she 
gave me the same reproving glance, and I was op- 
pressed by the same feeling of guilt, as on like 
occasions in the bygone London days. I could 
hardly have believed the truth of all Beta had told 
me, I could hardly have credited that the scene of 
the night had been actual and not a dream as I 
looked at my godmother’s pompous, impassive face, 
had it not been for Beta herself. But Beta was the 
nervous, constrained, strangely-mannered girl who 
had so startled me on my arrival the day before, and 
I knew that it was all true, and that there was worse 
to come. A little scene which occurred after break- 
fast, confirmed my fears. I had stepped out into the 
garden, for the sun was shining, and the air after 
the rain was wonderfully pure and sweet ; and I sup- 
pose that Mrs. Pimpernel, whose back was to the 
window, had not heard me come in again, for she did 
not break off from what she was saying as I entered. 

“ Mind,” I heard her decree, “ no secret conversa- 
tions and gossiping to-day.” 

“ It is so long since Hester and I have met, 
Mother,” Beta ventured timidly. 

“ Girls ought to have nothing to say but what 
their elders may hear. And you must mind your 
manner. Beta; that hangdog, sullen way you have 
taken to is a thing I won’t have.” 

‘‘ I can’t help it.” The words were almost whis- 
pered. “ I’m not good at pretending.” 


246 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Pretending ! What have you to pretend ? I 
have said that I will not have you corrupted by the 
influence of Plester Wynne, and you must do as I 
say and do it cheerfully. Now go ! ” 

Beta rose, and I took advantage of the slight 
noise she made in doing so, to retreat out of the 
window again. 

I went straight to my room and put my hat on ; 
the posting of that letter was the first thing I had to 
do; and I thought I would slip out of the house 
while Mrs. Pimpernel was engaged with her house- 
keeping. But just as I reached the front door she 
called to me. 

“Where are you going, Hester?’’ 

I turned round ; she was standing at the top of 
the stairs. 

“ Pm going for a stroll,” I answered. 

She came on down the stairs. “ Oh, don’t do 
that. I want so much to show you through the 
house and all about the place. I shall be ready in a 
quarter of an hour.” 

“ I should like a brisk walk first,” I said, “ if you 
don’t mind. Pll go out on the road a bit and come 
back.” If I could only get started, I thought, noth- 
ing else mattered; I should have no hesitation in 
staying out all morning if necessary; and if I could 
just manage to post the letter, it wouldn’t matter 
how angry Mrs. Pimpernel was afterwards. But she 
would not give in. 

“ The roads will be wet after the rain,” she said. 
“ You will do much better to wait till the afternoon, 
and then Beta might go with you. She knows all 
the roads ; the walk to Ardvalloch is a very pretty 
one and you would enjoy it much more if she were 
with you.” 


MRS. PIMPERNEL’S MANOEUVRES. 


247 

I distrusted her, but I felt there was nothing more 
to be said, and I came back into the hall. 

“ I will come for you to the drawing-room,” said 
my godmother. “ You will find the magazines for 
the month there, and perhaps you may have some 
letters to write.” 

I went into the drawing-room and wrote a letter 
to Mrs. Sullivan. It was as easy to post two letters 
as one, and I would tell her the truth while I could 
I had almost finished when Mrs. Pimpernel came in. 
She must have entered very softly, for I did not 
know she was there till I heard her voice just be- 
hind me. 

“ You are writing, Hester?” 

“ Yes, to Mrs. Sullivan,” I answered, for I knew 
she had read the address on the envelope. 

“ I will take the letter and have it posted.” 

“ No, thank you,” I returned. “ I will post it 
myself this afternoon at Ardvalloch.” 

“ You may miss the post if you wait till the after- 
noon, and it is a very long way to g6. Perhaps you 
may not feel inclined for such a distance.” 

“ Oh, Pm sure I shall ; and I like an object in a 
walk, so I would rather take it.” 

I put the letter into my pocket as I spoke, and 
Mrs. Pimpernel said nothing more, except that she 
would be back shortly. 

I sat for a long time with the Sunday at Home 
open before me ; quite alone, for Beta did not come 
near me ; and it was within an hour of lunch time 
when Mrs. Pimpernel at last returned. I felt that 
my whole morning had been purposely wasted, but 
I knew that my best policy was to show no sign of 
suspicion or annoyance, and I agreed with alacrity 
to her invitation to take me through the house. 


248 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

Afterwards I was very glad I had gone, for my 
observation during the inspection stood me later 
on in good stead. At the back of the dining-room 
was a small room which Mrs. Pimpernel used as 
her boudoir. Rather gloomy it was, for the shrubs 
came within a few feet of the window, but my god- 
mother, as I knew, was not sensitive to atmosphere. 

“ Is that a cupboard ? ” I asked, pointing to a 
door, the upper part of which was of thickened glass. 

“ Yes,” she answered, “ a china and store cup- 
board, quite a large place. I haven’t the key with 
me just now, or I would show it to you.” 

Upstairs, as I have said, a passage ran to right 
and left of the landing; to the right were Beta’s 
room, her mother’s and two others ; to the left were 
the servants’ quarters. Beyond Beta’s room, ap- 
proached by a downward flight of three or four steps, 
which I had not noticed the night before, was a sort 
of annexe, built out over the stable and consisting of 
one small room. 

‘‘ Rather a cold dreary little place,” Mrs. Pim- 
pernel remarked. “ We never use it.” 

“ Well you don’t need it,” I said. 

“ No, we have plenty of room without, now that 
we are so small a party.” 

I knew what her words implied — that I had 
driven Jesse away, but after what Beta had told me, 
I felt only angry that she should dare to reproach me 
with his absence. 

Immediately after luncheon I announced my in- 
tention of getting ready for my walk. And you 
are to go too,” I said to Beta. 

She glanced from me to her mother with doubtful 
eyes. 

“ If you feel able for it,” said Mrs. Pimpernel. 


MRS. PIMPERNEL’S MANOEUVRES. 


249 


Oh, quite, I — I’ll go and get ready ” ; and with 
surprise in her voice and on her face, Beta left the 
room and hurried upstairs. 

I put on my hat and a little thin coat, for it was 
not warm enough to go out' without extra covering, 
and went into the hall to wait. 

The time went on and Beta did not come. I 
became impatient and then anxious, and was about 
to go up to her room when Mrs. Pimpernel appeared. 

“ Beta is so sorry,” she said, “ but she has been 
seized with an attack of faintness and will not be able 
to accompany you.” 

“ Oh, let me go to her,” I exclaimed. 

“ No, she is better to be quite quiet. You had 
better let me send your letter to the post after all.” 

“ Not at all,” I replied. “ I shall go for my walk 
all the same, though I shall have to go alone.” 

‘‘ You must not go alone. If you insist upon 
going, Manningby will go with you.” 

“ It’s quite unnecessary. I am quite able to take 
care of myself.” 

“ You may think so, but while you are under my 
care, I refuse to let you tramp about the country 
unprotected.” 

I was very angry, angry at having my move- 
ments fettered, angry with myself for not having per- 
sisted in my intention of going in the morning, and 
I came perilously near to showing what I felt. But 
discretion came to my aid in time; it was better 
to keep the buttons on the foils as long as possible ; 
and Manningby could not possibly prevent me from 
posting my letters, I reflected. “ All right,” I said 
carelessly. 

It was about ten minutes later when at last I set 
out, burdened by the company of the maid. I had 
17 


250 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

taken a dislike to her from the very first, and she did 
not improve upon acquaintance. 

“ Shall I walk behind you or beside you, Miss? ” 
she said in a tiresome, servile kind of way as we 
started from the front door. 

“ Whichever you prefer,” I answered. “ I don’t 
care in the least.” 

She fell a few inches behind me, to one side, 
where I could just catch sight of her out of the 
corner of my eye. It worried me to see her there, 
especially as I felt she was studying me intently. 

“ Oh, please come forward,” I said, “ by my side.” 

She obeyed, and we walked on side by side for 
about a mile ; then she began to lag. 

“ Please, Miss, would you mind not walking quite 
so fast? ” she said. “ I have rather a tender foot.” 

“ You needn’t come faster than you like,” I re- 
plied. “ I’ll go on at my own pace, and if you can’t 
keep up with me. I’ll meet you on the way back.” 

She quickened her steps. ” Mrs. Pimpernel said- 
I was to attend you. Miss.” 

” I will settle it with Mrs. Pimpernel.” 

But she hurried on by my side till presently we 
came to where a sort of cart track branched off from 
the road. 

“ This is the way. Miss,” she said turning into it. 

“ That ? The road to Ardvalloch ? Why it’s 
hardly a road at all. And besides I know that the ' 
main road leads nowhere else, so you must be 
wrong.” 

“ It’s a shorter way. Miss, a much shorter way.” 

I thoroughly distrusted her. 

“ I don’t like short cuts,” I said, and marched on. 
She followed me, and for some way we proceeded 
in silence. The road wound in and out amongst the 


MRS. PIMPERNEL’S MANCEUVRES. 


251 


hills, which rose in interminable succession one be- 
yond the other. I knew it was a long walk upon 
which I had set out, a distance of many miles, a 
distance which was really beyond my strength ; but 
I was determined to compass it, and I pressed on as 
fast as possible, feeling that if I could once reach 
the village and post my letters, it would not matter 
how tired I should feel on the homeward way, nor 
how slowly I went. Bend after bend of the road was 
turned, and I was beginning to think that surely 
there could not be very much further to go, when I 
was brought to a standstill by Manningby. 

“ Oh, Miss, please. Miss,” she said, “ do stop. 
I feel so bad.” 

Fm afraid there was not much sympathy in my 
voice. “ What’s the matter with you ? ” 

“ Oh, so faint and bad I feel. Miss. I can’t ever 
get no further.” 

“Well, stay here and rest till I come back; or 
you can be turning homewards and I will overtake 
you.” 

“ I daren’t. Miss. My orders was to attend you, 
and Missis is so particular.” 

“ Fve told you Fll make it all right with your 
mistress. Here, sit down on this stone. I must 
go on.” 

I turned on my heel to leave her, but I had not 
gone a couple of yards before she called after me. 

“ Oh, Miss, don’t leave me. Miss ! Fm sure I 
shall faint here by the roadside. Oh dear, oh 
dear!” ♦ 

I turned back feeling a strong desire to shake 
her, and she immediately began a fearful moaning 
and groaning. 

“ Oh, I do feel so bad ! I feel like as if I was 


252 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

at death’s door. For ’Eaven’s sake, Miss, don’t leave 
me ! ” 

“What’s the matter?” I asked again. 

“ Such a ’orrible pain. Miss, through the very 
middle of my ’eart. Oh, Miss, I shall fall, I do 
believe I shall fall.” 

She staggered, and involuntarily, I put out my 
hand to help her. She clutched at it and leaned her 
whole weight on my arm. 

“ I shan’t never get back if you don’t assist me,” 
she whined. 

“ All right, I’ll assist you,” I said, “ but you must 
wait here till I come back. It’s absolutely necessary 
for me to go on.” 

Immediately she began her old cry. “ Don’t 
leave me, don’t leave me. Miss ! I know I shall die, 
if you do.” 

What could I do? I was all but convinced that 
she was shamming; yet I could not leave her moan- 
ing and groaning upon the road ; not to speak of the 
fact that she held my arm as in a vice, and that she 
was a tall big woman and I was small and slight. I 
reflected ; evidently she had had her orders ; in any 
case I was not to go to Ardvalloch that afternoon ; 
and if all other methods failed she would prevent me 
by sheer physical force. It was wiser to avoid an 
open contest ; it was safer to pretend I believed her. 

“ We will go home,” I said. “ You can take 
my arm.” 

She limped along by my side, leaning a con- 
siderable portion of her weight upon me ; she was 
a big woman, as I have said, and it was no easy 
task to support her, and after a time I came to the 
conclusion that to act as her walking-stick was an 
aggravation of my discomfiture which it was un- 


MRS. PIMPERNEL’S MANCEUVRES. 


253 

necessary to bear. I kept up the fiction of her ill- 
ness, though. 

“ Fm sorry,” I said, “ but I am really not strong 
enough to help you any further. If you can’t walk 
alone, you must wait here and I will send a vehicle 
for you when I reach home.” 

“ I think I can get along now. Miss,” she re- 
plied. “ I’ll do my best any hows.” 

She released my arm and fell a little to the rear 
and we walked the rest of the way in silence. What 
a long way it seemed ! and how disappointment and 
vexation hung upon my steps and robbed my limbs 
of their energy! I felt as if I could hardly drag 
one leg before the other when at last the gate lead- 
ing to Glamarnie came in sight. As we climbed the 
drive I spoke to Manningby. 

I hope you feel better,” I said. 

“ Yes, Miss, thank you. Miss, I feel pretty well 
all right again,” she answered. 

At the front door we encountered my godmother. 

‘‘ You are back in good time,” she remarked. 

“ Manningby was taken ill and we had to turn,” 
I said. 

“ What about your letter then ? ” 

“ Oh, the letter must wait till to-morrow.” 

I went to my room and tore what I had written 
to Mrs. Sullivan into tiny pieces : but the letter to 
Captain Bobby I kept all evening in the bosom of 
my frock. 


CHAPTER XL. 


I WRITE LETTERS. 

Mrs. Pimpernel had outwitted me so far, but 
I was determined not to be beaten. 

“ I will fight you with your own weapons,” I said 
to myself, as I looked at her across the dinner table ; 
and all the evening as we sat at work in the drawing- 
room — for, unable any longer to endure that un- 
canny atmosphere in idleness, I had volunteered to 
help with a petticoat — I was considering what I 
would do. 

As we lighted our candles in the hall. Beta 
managed to whisper to me : “ Not to-night ” ; and 
I knew that that meant she had nothing more to 
tell me, or that it would not be safe to risk a stolen 
visit. I did not therefore sit up waiting for her, but 
undressed at once and got into bed. Did I sleep that 
night? Yes, reader, I did, and soundly. I was tired 
with my long walk ; the mountain air was strong ; 
and I had had but little rest the night before and a 
great deal of agitation throughout the last twenty- 
four hours. So I slept — a dreamless, delightful 
sleep ; and when I awoke, the sunlight was bright 
in the room, and I rose refreshed, strengthened, and 
invigorated, my nerves braced, my courage revived, 
prepared to meet and cope with the difficulties be- 
fore me. It may seem strange that throughout this 
254 


I WRITE LETTERS. 


255 


time when the perils which menaced me were worse 
than any I had yet met with, I should have been less 
timid and nervous, more self-possessed, clearer in 
judgment and stronger of heart than at the very be- 
ginning of my troubles when the danger was less 
and I was not even sure that my fears were well 
founded. But I think the very indefiniteness of the 
dread of those first days, the absence of any apparent 
cause for what happened, the suggestion of super- 
natural agencies which Jesse had contrived to convey 
to me, all tended to confuse and unnerve me ; 
whereas now my knowledge of the foes I had to deal 
with set all my faculties on the alert, convincing 
me that only by meeting cunning with cunning could 
I attempt to deal with them. I do not say that there 
were not times when courage seemed to leave me 
altogether, when my heart sank and my head swam 
with intensity of fear; but in the main I was able 
to keep my presence of mind, able to plan and to 
act, and the very desperateness of my circumstances 
enabled me in some strange way to fight them. 

After breakfast I went into the drawing-room and 
wrote to Mrs. Loveday. I told her that I was stay- 
ing with Mrs. Pimpernel and Beta, that I was having 
a delightful time, that the scenery was magnificent, 
and that I felt much the better already, of the bracing 
mountain air. I had gone for a long walk the day 
before, I said, and had intended it to be still longer, 
but had been obliged to turn owing to the illness 
of my companion ; for which I confessed myself 
secretly glad, as the distance I had intended to go 
was really beyond my strength, though pride would 
not have allowed me to shorten it. The only draw- 
back to my enjoyment, I stated, was that Beta 
seemed far from strong and that Mrs. Pimpernel was 


256 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

evidently anxious about her ; but 'I ended by saying 
that I hoped she would soon be better and that we 
should be able to have some rambles together 
amongst the hills. I finished the letter and ad- 
dressed the envelope and waited till my godmother 
should appear, which I knew she would do before 
long, to see what I was about. Then I rose, and 
saying something about stamps, went out of the 
room, leaving the letter and envelope side by side on 
the writing-table. I remained away a sufficient 
length of time to enable her to read the letter, and 
then returned with stamps and the petticoat. Mrs. 
Pimpernel met me at the drawing-room door. 

“ Have you many letters ? ” she asked. I am 
going to send in to Ballarat this morning, and Brace- 
well can take them.” 

“ No,” I answered, “ Pve only one. Pve been 
writing to Mrs. Loveday.” 

“ And Mrs. Sullivan’s letter? ” she said. 

“ Oh,” I returned carelessly, “ I tore that up. I 
thought I’d write another to-day, but now I think 
I’ll wait till I hear from her. I’m sure to hear to- 
morrow.” 

“ Well, put what you have on the hall table,” she 
said and passed on. 

I went into the drawing-room again, fetched my 
letter and inserted the enclosure which I had ready 
in my pocket. Only a half sheet of note paper it was, 
for I had torn off the blank half sheet of Captain 
Bobby’s letter, not daring to risk a perceptible in- 
crease of bulk. For the same reason I had to do 
without an envelope, but I had affixed to his half 
sheet a minute piece of paper on which I had written 
his name and address, and underneath, directions 
to forward it at once. It took me hardly more than 


I WRITE LETTERS. 


257 


a quarter of a minute to put Mrs. Loveclay’s letter, 
with the enclosure, into the already directed en- 
velope, to close and stamp it and lay it on the hall 
table. I made as much haste as possible, so as to 
avoid any cause of suspicion, and then I returned 
to the drawing-room and began to sew diligently. 
Some slight risk I supposed I ran in what I had 
done, but so slight as to be well worth attempting; 
for Mrs. Pimpernel, having read the letter, would 
be hardly likely to reopen it, as the feel of the en- 
velope gave no indication of the extra contents ; and 
it would suit her well that so glowing an account 
of my visit should go forth into the outer world. 
But it might be some time before Captain Bobby re- 
ceived my communication. His movements were 
uncertain, I knew, and Mrs. Loveday, too, was 
travelling about from place to place and might not 
get my letter for several days. Delay meant increased 
danger for me, increased suffering for Beta, and 
now I should have to live in a state of suspense 
till I knew whether my plan had been successful. 
Still, I hoped ; and hope gave me strength to go on, 
to affect light-heartedness, to think out possibilities 
of escape. It was impossible to make definite plans, 
seeing that I did not know yet exactly what threat- 
ened me, what precisely the danger was with which 
I had to contend: one thing only I resolved — that 
I would not escape alone ; Beta should come with me, 
or I would stay with Beta. 

Dear, unhappy Beta ! How miserable it made 
me to see her so changed and broken, with that 
strained frightened look in the eyes that should have 
been calm and soft; and how strange it was to be 
in the same house with her, seeing her constantly, 
and yet to have no real intercourse with her, to be 


258 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

allowed no sort of communication ! For so it was. 
If we went out together Manningby or Mrs. Pim- 
pernel went with us, and in the house I had given 
up attempting to see her alone, knowing that if I 
succeeded, she would have to suffer in consequence. 
We were indeed, both of us, prisoners, but the time 
had not yet come to show that I was conscious of 
the fact. 

The day after I sent away — as I trusted — my 
letter to Captain Bobby, I heard from Mrs. Sulli- 
van. But what did she mean? “We are glad to 
hear from Mrs. Pimpernel of your safe arrival, but 
a little surprised and disappointed that there is no 
word from yourself.” I had written to her within 
a couple of hours after entering Glamarnie and be- 
fore I had begun to suspect that evil was intended 
towards me. Had even that letter been stopped? 
Then I remembered a sentence at the end of it, and 
understood. “ Don’t be surprised,” I had written 
in a half joking mood, “ if I should write and ask 
you to make some pretext for summoning me sud- 
denly, for I’m not at all sure that I like or trust my 
hostess any more than I did.” That sentence had 
caused the destruction of my letter, and that no 
letter entered or left the house without inspection, 
I was now convinced. This one from Mrs. Sullivan 
had been handed to me without being tampered 
with ; but then Mrs. Pimpernel would know of course 
that as the writer had not heard from me since my 
arrival at Glamarnie, it could not contain anything 
that mattered. 

“ A strange thing,” I remarked when I had fin- 
ished my reflections. “ Mrs. Sullivan says she has 
had no letter from me, and I wrote the very day 
I arrived.” 


I WRITE LETTERS. 


259 


“ The posts are very uncertain,” Mrs. Pimper- 
nel replied. “ A good many letters have gone 
wrong.” 

“ Very unsatisfactory,” I said, and did not fur- 
ther pursue the subject. It was a gain, at any rate, 
to know something of my enemy’s tactics. 


CHAPTER XLL 


I GO TO CHURCH. 

The next day was Sunday. I had supposed that 
we should be confined to the house and grounds 
as usual, but to my surprise Mrs. Pimpernel directed 
Beta and me to be ready to start for church by ten 
o’clock. My spirits rose ; perhaps I should have an 
opportunity of posting a letter, or of communicating 
in some way or other with the outside world. But 
reflection showed me the unlikelihood of anything of 
the kind ; guarded and watched as I should be, what 
could I possibly do? Still I should see people, be 
in the company of my fellows, and there was no 
knowing what opportunities of help might arise. I 
had not very much time in which to get ready, but 
I hastened to scribble a note to Mrs. Sullivan ; 
somewhat incoherent, I fear, but setting forth as 
shortly as possible, the situation I was in. There 
was but small likelihood of my being able to post 
it, but I would not run the risk of losing even the 
remotest chance. 

When it was time to start, I found that my god- 
mother intended to stay at home. She had a head- 
ache, she said, and did not feel well enough to go. 
We set out; I sat in the front of the dog-cart with 
Bracewell, a man who seemed to combine the duties 
of coachman and butler, and Beta was behind with 
260 


I GO TO CHURCH. 


261 

Manningby. We were to go to Ardvalloch, which, 
I had now found out, was two miles further away 
than Ballarat. I could not, of course, speak to Beta, 
except by uttering the merest commonplaces, and to 
while away the time and keep myself from dwelling 
too intently on the hazards of my situation, I ad- 
dressed a few remarks to Bracewell. He was an 
intelligent man, with a very pleasant manner, and 
told me several superstitions connected with the 
mountains, which he had picked up since being in 
the neighbourhood. I became interested in what he 
told me, and then I ceased to follow his words, my 
whole attention being concentrated upon an idea 
which had occurred to me. The idea was this : could 
I trust him? could I dare to confide to him the 
posting of my letter ? Reason told me it was impos- 
sible that all Mrs. Pimpernel’s servants should be 
in league with her against me ; intuition directed 
me to keep my secret to myself ; the two fought 
within me, and I did not know which to follow. 
Then, all at once, the sun came out and made every- 
thing seem more hopeful ; the speculative part of 
me came into play and urged me to a course which 
meant betrayal or salvation ; I said to myself that I 
should have no chance of escape if I gave way to 
a morbid distrust of everybody I came across, and 
I made up my mind to run the risk. 

“ Bracewell,” I said in a low tone, “ I have a 
letter I want you to post for me.” 

He gave me a quick glance, and I felt half in- 
clined to draw back. But my voice, I reflected, had 
probably startled him, for I was aware of the agita- 
tion in it ; and indeed all my life my voice has been 
somewhat of a trial to me. I can control my face 
if hard put to it, my temper, my manner even ; but 


262 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

it has often been impossible to me entirely to pre- 
vent my inmost feelings from creeping into my voice, 
and probably in this instance my emotion had be- 
trayed itself in the usual way. 

“ I don’t know as I shall be near a post office, 
Miss,” Bracewell said. 

“ But you will be putting up the horse ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, but ” 

“ You can’t be very far away from one.” I took 
a sovereign from my purse and held it out to him. 

“ Quite unnecessary. Miss,” he said. ” I shall be 
happy to post your letter.” 

I put the sovereign into his hand nevertheless, 
with the letter. “ And — and you needn’t say any- 
thing about it,” I added. 

“ No, Miss, certainly not, if you don’t wish it.” 

He put the money in his pocket, and presently 
pointed out to me a mountain which he said was 
called the Devil’s Watch Tower. “ Curious names 
they have in these parts. Miss,” he remarked. 

His manner was admirably respectful and pleas- 
ant; and yet — and yet, I did not feel quite com- 
fortable. “ Hester Wynne,” I said to myself sternly, 
“ you are an undecided fool. You do a thing and 
then repent of it. For goodness’ sake don’t look 
back from every plough you put your hand to, or 
you will never succeed in what you want to do ! 

We were close to Ardvalloch now, and presently 
I found myself seated in the little plain church, 
Manningby next to me and then Beta. It occurred 
to me to wonder what would be the result if I were 
to rise up and ask all the people there to help me. 
Had we evidence enough. Beta and I, to prove my 
fears well founded, or should I simply be accounted 
mad? I was considering this when I had the first 


I GO TO CHURCH. 


263 

of two surprises which happened to me on that 
day. Glancing round the church, my eyes encoun- 
tered a well-known face — the face of Mrs. Brabrook. 
My first impulse was to get up and go straight to 
her, to implore her aid and protection; but I must 
wait, I knew, till the end of the service, and forced 
myself to stay where I was. How long the time 
seemed, how wearisome the sermon, how tiresome 
the hymns ! At last it was over, but Manningby 
must have seen that I was anxious to hurry out of 
church, for nothing would induce her to stir till the 
congregation should all have departed. 

“ Missis always waits till the last,” was all she 
would say in answer to my impatient remonstrances. 
At last I could stand it no longer; the desire to get 
out overwhelmed every other consideration, and 
almost without thinking what I was doing, I stood 
up on the seat, put my hands on the back of the 
pew and vaulted over it into the next one. I did 
not heed Manningby’s exclamation, I did not pause 
to see if anybody had observed and been shocked 
by my manoeuvre ; I made straight for the church 
door, and I ran, I think, down the path through the 
churchyard. Mrs. Brabrook was standing by the 
gate. 

“ Hester,” she exclaimed in her sternest tones, 
that is not the way to come out of church.” 

“ Oh, I was afraid,” I gasped, “ afraid you would 
have gone.” 

“ I saw you, and was waiting for you. You 
should try and be more seemly in your behaviour. 
Remember the day and the ” 

“ I am a prisoner,” I broke in, “ watched, pre- 
vented ” I stopped short for there was Man- 

ningby beside me. 


264 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Miss Wynne,” she began, “ I don’t know what 
Mrs. Pimpernel ” 

“ I am speaking to this lady,” I said. Go on ! ” 

“ I can’t go on without you. Miss.” 

There was an impertinence in her look and voice 
which did more for me, I believe, with Mrs. Bra- 
brook than anything which I myself could have said. 

“Where are you staying, Hester?” asked Mrs. 
Brabrook. 

“ At Glamarnie,” I answered, “ between this and 
Ballarat. Do come to me ! ” 

Beta had been standing a few paces away; she 
now came forward. “ Yes, do come ! ” she said in 
a low voice and without any attempt at a conven- 
tional greeting. 

Mrs. Brabrook gave a slight start. “ Miss 
Pimpernel ! ” she exclaimed, and then added, “ Have 
you been ill ? ” 

“ Young ladies,” said Manningby, “the carriage 
is waiting.” 

“ You had better go,” said Mrs. Brabrook. “ I 
will see you again.” 

We shook hands in silence, and followed Man- 
ningby down the path. 

It was then that I had my second surprise of 
that day; for loitering about in the road, amongst 
a group of idlers, I saw another face I knew, the 
face of the man whom John and I had surprised 
at Granbigh Hold, and who had travelled in the 
train with me from London. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


THE SMALL BARE ROOM. 

Of course Manningby reported what had taken 
place as soon as we got back. I knew that, although 
Mrs. Pimpernel made no reference to it, not even 
when I stated at luncheon that Mrs. Brabrook had 
been in church. 

Indeed ! ” she replied. “ Is she staying in the 
neighbourhood ? ” 

“ I suppose so,’’ I said, but did not add that she 
was coming to see me. Of that, Mrs. Pimpernel 
was aware already I knew, and would use her knowl- 
edge to prevent my seeing the visitor when she 
came. When would that be? and was she staying 
alone at Ardvalloch, or was John with her? The 
uncertainty gave me plenty to think about, and I 
thought a great deal as I sat with “ The Sins of 
Self-confidence,” which my godmother had recom- 
mended as a suitable work for Sunday afternoon, 
open before me. I sat and thought till I saw Mrs. 
Pimpernel’s eyelids droop and her head fall forward, 
and then I stole out of the room. I had had no op- 
portunity of surveying the moat, and was anxious 
to find out whether at any point it presented a pos- 
sibility of escape. I thought that at this hour Brace- 
well would be safe indoors and that I should be 
able to make my inspection unobserved, but, as I 
i8 265 


266 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

passed round the corner of the house I met him. 
He looked at me somewhat sharply, and I thought 
my best plan was to address him, showing nothing 
of the suspicions which I could not help feeling. 

“ Did you post my letter, Bracewell ? I en- 
quired. 

“ Letter quite safe. Miss,” he replied. “ Going 
for a walk. Miss ? ” he added. 

“ Only just round about, inside the moat,” I 
answered ; but I noticed that when I had passed on, 
he went over to the bridge and shut and locked the 
gate. I went on, slowly till I was out of his sight, 
then with quickened steps, round by the bank of the 
moat; but found no comfort as I went, for every- 
where it was equally wide and deep. I followed it 
till I had seen all that could not be seen from the 
garden, and then, partially retracing my steps, 
climbed the little hill at the back of the house, and 
came down through the trees and undergrowth 
towards the garden. I faced thus, that part of the 
house in which was Beta’s window and also the win- 
dow of the annexe, and standing on the higher 
ground, I commanded the rooms within. I could 
not see into Beta’s room, on account of the blind 
which covered the upper part of the window, but 
that other room, with its undraped casement, was 
open to my gaze ; and it entered and was fixed there, 
fascinated by what it met. For that room in the 
annexe, small, bare, and scantily furnished, was the 
room I had seen in my vision the night before com- 
ing to Glamarnie, the same in every detail. It was 
empty ; that was the only difference ; but I said to 
myself : “ He will be there before long.” 

I went indoors again with a sort of sick feeling 
which I could not overcome for the rest of that day ; 


THE SMALL BARE ROOM. 


267 


and when night came I lay awake and thought of 
the many things that combined to strengthen my 
dread. That room, made known to me by my 
strange prevision of it, before ever I had seen it with 
my mortal eyes, was one ; another was the discovery 
that Manningby and Bracewell were the only two 
servants at Glamarnie. This fact, communicated to 
me that same evening in a moment’s chance inter- 
view with Beta, was ominous, and made me more 
than ever doubtful of my wisdom in entrusting my 
letter to Bracewell. Well, I was soon to know the 
fate of that letter, and a great deal more besides; 
for on the morrow Mrs. Pimpernel and I came into 
open conflict. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


THE DREAD DRAWS NEARER. 

My wakeful night had resulted in the deter- 
mination to make another effort to reach Ardvalloch. 
Mrs. Brabrook might not pay her promised visit for 
a day or two, and it was necessary, absolutely neces- 
sary, to seek help from the outside world without 
delay. The bridge gate was kept locked all the 
morning, so it was useless to attempt to carry out 
my plan till the afternoon ; but after lunch Bracewell 
generally went to the stable, which was outside the 
moat, to see to the horses, and while he was there 
the gate was left open. I must wait then for this, 
my only opportunity, and accordingly as soon as 
lunch was over I went to my room and got ready, 
meaning to make my exit through the window. I 
opened it and stepped softly outside on to the drive, 
but no sooner had I done so than Mrs. Pimpernel 
emerged from the front door. 

“ Where are you going ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ Pm going out.” 

^‘What for?” 

“ For a walk.” 

You cannot go for a walk to-day.” 

‘^Why not?” 

I have my reasons for forbidding it.” 

And I have my reasons for disobeying you.” 

268 


THE DREAD DRAWS NEARER. 


269 


“ You cannot go, Hester.” 

Then I cast prudence to the wind. “ Am I a 
prisoner in this place ? ” I said. 

She looked at me for a full minute very steadily ; 
her face changed and I saw the truth in her eyes; 
then at last she spoke with her lips: “ Yes.” 

” I refuse to be made a prisoner,” I said. “ I 
mean to go now, and go I will.” 

“ No ! ” she answered, “ it is impossible.” 

“ Do you mean that you will prevent me by 
force ? ” 

She did not answer, but her glance went beyond 
me, and I turned and saw Bracewell on the bridge. 

“ Are your servants your tools ? ” I asked scorn- 
fully. 

“ They will do my bidding,” she replied. 

“ Well,” I said, “ we’ll finish this conversation 
without their assistance. Go on, and I’ll follow 
you.” 

She withdrew from the door and led the way 
across the hall into the room which she kept for her 
own use, the room at the back of the dining-room, 
and I followed her and closed the door. 

Now ! ” I said. 

For a moment she appeared to falter — only for a 
moment; almost at once she regained her self-pos- 
session ; imperious and arrogant she stood before me, 
the guardian of my early days, the woman I had 
always feared, albeit now and again some odd con- 
tradiction of my nature had aroused in her presence 
an almost irresistible flippancy. But I was not 
flippant now ; it was war to the knife I knew, and 
the old shrinking was upon me in spite of my de- 
termination to be brave. 

'' Hester Wynne,” she began, you call your- 


2^0 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

self a prisoner ; but how can you expect to be treated 
when you behave like this? She threw down a 
letter on the table. 

“ Ah,” I said, “ so that’s what Bracewell did with 
it ! He should not have taken my sovereign 
though.” 

Bracewell knows his duty.” 

“ Bracewell,” I said, urged by some strange im- 
pulse to defy and taunt her, though all the time my 
knees were trembling under me, “ Bracewell is wor- 
thy of his mistress, worthy of her son, worthy of the 
son’s intrigues and the mother’s religion.” 

A red flush crossed her sallow face, and for a 
moment I thought she would have struck me. But 
she did not strike me — not then. 

“ You have been the cause of it all,” she said 
hoarsely, “ you whom I brought up with all the^care 
I could give you, whom I endeavoured to lead in 
the right way, whose soul I tried, yes truly and 
honestly tried to save. You were never dear to 
me; your whole character, your stubborn ungrate- 
ful nature, your very look and face were repugnant 
to me. And yet I did my best, I did my duty by 
you ; I did, I did, Hester Wynne, whatever you may 
say.” 

Yes,” I said, drawing away from her, for the 
sound of her voice frightened me, “ till Jesse came 
home.” 

“ Till Jesse came home.” She drew a long gasp- 
ing breath after repeating my words. “ Do you 
think it was nothing to me to see Jesse — who was 
bound to me by my very heart strings, who was 
more to me than all the world besides, who had been 
away from me for years and years, who came back 
to me troubled and miserable — do you think it was 


THE DREAD DRAWS NEARER. 


271 

nothing to me to see him take up with you? and 
to see you scorn him? ” 

“ Not me,” I put in, “ the money he wanted from 
me, the jewels he tried to steal.” 

“ Yes, you,” she persisted, “ nevertheless you. 
And if you had done what most women would have 
done, if you had given up your airs and graces and 
let your heart go out to him, all this would have 
been saved, all this trouble and misery. He would 
not have been driven desperate, and I should not 
have sinned.” 

“ Strange,” I said, “ to blame me for what you 
and he have done.” 

“ Not strange, but just ; for you might have saved 
him.” 

She stood looking at me for a moment in silence ; 
then : 

“ Let me go away now,” I said in a low voice, 
“ let me go right away before you do what you have 
in your mind, and all the rest shall be forgotten. I 
promise you on my honour, not a soul shall know 
of it.” 

Would she yield? Oh, I had never known how 
much I feared, how I longed for escape, till now ! 
No; her face darkened. 

“ Do you think I would sacrifice Jesse to you — 
now — after all this? No. You shall not go till you 
have done his will.” 

The words struck cold upon my heart. What 
was his will? and how would she enforce it? 

Is this,” I said, my voice shaking in spite of 
myself, “the way you keep my mother’s trust?” 

All at once her composure deserted her; she 
clutched at and leaned upon the table ; her face grew 
white. Her eyes looked beyond me ; it was as 


2^2 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

though she did not know I was there ; and then sud- 
denly she turned her gaze full upon me and spoke 
in a fierce, harsh tone. 

“Did you know she came to me last night?” 

she asked, “ came and upbraided me ” Her 

voice changed again. “ It was a dream of course, a 
nightmare. Don’t suppose that I believe in such 
things. Susan knows that I did my best for you, 
did my best till Oh,” she cried, “ is it wonder- 

ful that I should hate you, seeing what you have 
brought me to ? ” 

I heard the last words dimly, as in a dream, for 
my whole attention was concentrated upon another 
sound — the sound of wheels on the drive. At once 
I gathered what it meant ; Mrs. Brabrook had c^me 
and might be turned away before I had the chance 
of seeing her. I sprang to the door, and at the same 
instant Mrs. Pimpernel became alive to what was 
happening. Her hand was on my shoulder. 

“ No,” she said, “ no.” 

I turned and wrenched myself from her grasp, 
prepared at all costs to make a fight for freedom. 
For a moment we faced one another. “ Oh, I know 
how you hate me,” I said, “ but ” 

The door opened and Manningby entered the 
room. 

“ A note for Miss Wynne,” she said, but she 
handed the note to Mrs. Pimpernel. My godmother 
opened and read it, while I looked on powerless and 
indignant, and Manningby glanced from one of us 
to the other. Presently she handed the letter on to 
me, with what sounded like a sigh of relief. 

“ Not to-day at any rate,” she said. 

I read the letter with a sinking of the heart. It 
was from Mrs. Brabrook. She had intended to 


THE DREAD DRAWS NEARER. 


273 


come and see me to-day, she said, but had caught 
a chill the day before and was laid up in bed. She 
would be glad if I would come to see her, but if 
I could not, she would come as soon as she was 
better, A lady staying in the hotel was kindly leav- 
ing the note in the course of her drive and would 
bring back an answer. 

I looked at Mrs. Pimpernel when I had finished 
reading. 

“ I will speak to the lady,'’ I said boldly. 

She gave me an odd look. “ Will she ever give 

way ? ” she murmured, “ or ” Then in her usual 

tones. I will see the lady and tell her that it is 
not possible for you to go to Ardvalloch during the 
next few days.” 

She went out of the room, leaving Manningby to 
guard me, and presently I heard the wheels on the 
drive again, retreating — retreating. Then I sank 
into a chair, and covered my face with my hands. 
But I did not cry. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


I AM AFRAID. 

That evening after dinner I said to Beta : “ Your 
mother tells me I am a prisoner.” 

I had an idea of remaining in my own room, 
of refusing to come to meals or to have any j inter- 
course with Mrs. Pimpernel, but reflection showed 
me that I should gain nothing by such a course, that 
I should only curtail still further my opportunities 
for observation and — possibly — escape, and that the 
best thing I could do was to go on as usual. I did 
not work, though, at the South African petticoat that 
evening; I sat with my hands idle before me and 
looked into the fire — a peat fire like the one at 
Shivdallagh in which I had sought to read futurity. 
What different scenes this one painted for me ! Mrs. 
Pimpernel was hard at work as was her wont (I 
believe she must have had an idea of smothering her 
conscience with under-garments) and she did not 
pause when I spoke. Beta looked at me in tremu- 
lous dismay. 

“ A prisoner? ” she faltered. 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ the murder’s out,” and I 
thought my godmother started as I said the words, 
“ and we need none of us pretend any more.” 

Beta looked from me to Mrs. Pimpernel and 
back again to me, but did not speak. 

274 


I AM AFRAID. 


275 


“ I don’t know,” I said, and my voice began to 
tremble in spite of me, “ I don’t know what I have 
done to be made a prisoner, nor what is going to 
happen next.” 

It may be that in my face and in my voice I 
showed the fear against which I struggled, but which 
was fast taking possession of me ; but at this point 
Beta burst into tears. 

“ Oh, Hester,” she cried, “ oh, Hester ! and it was 
I who brought you here ! ” 

“ Not knowing,” I said, and I got up and went 
over to her and kneeled down beside her ; somehow 
the touch of her was a comfort. “ Not knowing at 
all what was to come of it.” 

“ No, indeed, no indeed.” She could only sob 
for awhile, and Mrs. Pimpernel worked on steadily, 
taking no notice, save for a side glance now and 
again. 

“ I wanted to tell you this,” I went on, “ before 
your mother, and to tell your mother before you that 
I hope your suflerings are now over. You have 
done your part — the part of a decoy ” 

“ Oh, Hester, Hester,” she put in, “ if I had only 
known — guessed — suspected ! ” 

“ — and there is no reason why you should be 
made miserable any more.” 

She threw her arms about my neck. “ Oh, you 
don’t know,” she gasped, “ you don’t know.” 

“ I know nothing,” I said, “ except the way 
in which your mother has kept her faith with 
mine.” 

I knew that my mother’s name was like a sword- 
thrust to Mrs. Pimpernel, and I knew that with a 
nature like hers, to wound was probably to increase 
my danger : but the very hopelessness of my position 


276 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

gave me a sort of courage, the very fear that shook 
me urged me to defiance. 

She rose, my godmother, at these last words of 
mine. 

“ Enough of this,” she said. “ You are hysteri- 
cal enough already. Beta, without Hester’s morbid 
extravagances to excite you. You had better go to 
your room.” 

“ Yes, go,” I echoed, “ go, dear Beta, and don’t 
worry about me. I am only glad that pretence 
has been dropped at last, and that I know where 
I am.” 

I led her to the door, and I smiled as I held it 
open for her to pass through, for I could not bear 
the anguish in her eyes, and for the moment I 
thought only of how to comfort her. I closed the 
door behind her and turned to Mrs. Pimpernel. 

“ But after all,” I said, “ I don’t really know. 
Tell me. Tell me what you are going to do to Susan 
Grant’s child.” 

“ Not her child,” she said in an odd toneless sort 
of voice, “ not really her child. No likeness — none 
at all — between the two.” 

“ Except the hair,” I answered. “ Have you for- 
gotten ? ” 

She waited, with that strange look of the after- 
noon again upon her face. 

“ No, no, no,” she said at last. ‘‘ I do right and 
not wrong, good and not evil. It will be for your 
good in the end, Hester, for your happiness, and 
your children’s, if — if ” 

“ If what?” I asked. 

She did not answer my question. 

“ It will be for your good,” she repeated. She 
raised her right hand with one of her uncouth ges- 


I AM AFRAID. 


277 

tures. I call God to witness that I believe it to 
be for your good.” 

“ I should advise you,” I said, “ to leave God out 
of this business.” 

At my words a curious change came over her ; 
the exaltation left her face and she was once again 
the imperious self-contained woman that I knew. 

“ You are right,” she said in her usual voice. 

Between you and me there should and shall be 
only command and obedience.” 

“ Obedience cannot be enforced.” 

“ Submission then,” she substituted. 

“ Nor submission.” I don’t know what induced 
me to defy her, but defiance was strong in me. I 
let my gaze meet hers. “ You can't subdue me,” I 
said. 

At that her voice and manner changed again. 

“ If I could,” she muttered, “ if I only could — we 
should all be saved.” 

Somehow these last words of hers frightened 
me more than anything she had yet said; they 
seemed to carry with them a sense of inevitable 
doom ; and in silence I turned from her and passed 
out of the room. Dread was heavy upon me as I 
locked my door, and I told myself that I must fight 
it or it would overwhelm me : fear, I said, ceases to 
be fearful, if one grapples with it. But there are 
depths of fear to which at that time I had not reached. 
Well, I was to learn something of them that night. 


CHAPTER XLV. ' 


THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 

I LOCKED my door and sat down in the arm-chair 
and thought. I held my fear at arm’s length ; I 
would not make clear to myself what I dreaded. My 
chief thought just then was of Beta ; this prescript life, 
I felt, would kill her or drive her insane if it con- 
tinued, and at all costs she must escape from it. 
There had been barely time yet for Captain Bobby 
to get my letter; but as soon as he did, as soon 
as I heard from him, as soon as I knew that Beta 
could count upon a protector, somehow or another 
she must manage to get away from Glamarnie and 
join him. I was sorry that I had told him in my 
letter to wait till he heard from me, sorry that I 
had not told him to come openly and rescue us both 
at once ; but at the time of writing I had not known 
how desperate was the situation, and had strongly 
desired, for Beta’s sake, to prevent an open scandal. 
I could make no fresh plans, though, without con- 
sulting with her, and I cast about to see how this 
could be accomplished. All through the day, I 
knew, a meeting would be impossible, but the fol- 
lowing night, by hook or by crook, I must go to 
her room or she must come to mine. I would go 
to hers, I resolved, for strained as were the nerves 
of both of us at this time, mine I thought were 
278 


THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 


279 


the steadier. I would write her a little note telling 
her to be prepared for me, and slip it into her hand 
in the morning. I got up and wrote the note, and 
then it occurred to me that, as I had broken my 
journey on the way, I did not know how long it took 
to come direct from London to Ballarat. It was 
important that I should know this, so that if I re- 
ceived the longed-for telegram I should be able to 
calculate when Captain Bobby was likely to arrive; 
and I made up my mind to go and consult a time- 
table which I had observed that day on the drawing- 
room table. It was an effort to me to leave my 
room and go out into the unprotected space of that 
uncanny house ; but it must be done, I decided after 
a little wavering, and after all I ran no real risk. It 
was unlikely that my movements would be heard, 
and even if they were, and I were discovered, it would 
not greatly matter, seeing that my action that night 
required no co-operation on the part of Beta. It 
was the next night’s plans which it would be hazard- 
ous to carry out, for to involve Beta any further in 
my misfortunes was what I particularly wished to 
avoid, and except for her own sake, would have run 
no risk in which she was obliged to take a part. 
Nevertheless I felt strangely reluctant to leave the 
shelter of my room with its locked door ; the events 
of the day had affected me more even than I was 
aware of at the time, and the sense of evil lay 
heavy upon me. But I overcame the reluctance, I 
stifled the dread, and taking a candle in my hand I 
carefully opened my door and stole noiselessly 
across the hall to the drawing-room. There was the 
time-table, just where I remembered seeing it; I 
took it up and began to consult its pages, for it 
would not do to carry it off with me, lest its absence 


28o the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

should be noticed before I had an opportunity of 
putting it back in the morning. I stood by the 
table, my candle flickering; I remember that the 
wick was too long, and that the shaky uncertain 
light bothered me as I searched the thin, closely 
figured pages. I stood and sought anxiously the in- 
formation I wanted ; and standing there, 1 heard, all 
at once, and distinctly, a slow footfall on the stair. 
Not loud was it ; it would hardly have caught any 
ears, I think, whose hearing was less nervously acute 
than mine ; but certain ; and deliberate. Who was 
coming? The old sick sense of dread was upon 
me. Did I know ? Ay, in my soul I knew ; but my 
mind still asked my heart: Who is it? Immedi- 
ately, without waiting a tithe of the time that It has 
taken me to write this down, I blew out the candle ; 
and then — or I fancied it — the footfall slightly quick- 
ened. I did not move ; my hands rested upon the 
table; and fear — oh, such a fear — was upon me, as 
I waited while the footfall reached the hall and 
crossed it. It entered the room and paused. The 
silence was absolute, as absolute as the darkness, save 
for one faint sound which was borne to me through 
the oppression of it — the sound of slightly quickened 
breathing. For some time — or was it only a sec- 
ond ? — there was no other ; then came movement ; 
it — he — that unseen presence was coming towards 
me. As it advanced I retreated, feeling my way 
by the table ; and ever the movements grew more 
audible and ever those groping hands drew nearer to 
me ; and ever and anon there was a pause, and in 
the pause I heard again the breathing, and felt the 
approach of the evil : but no word was spoken. So 
we went on, round by the table’s rim, pursuer and 
pursued, and the slow caution of that silent race 


THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 


281 


was worse a thousandfold than any effort of speed. 
If I could only get near the door, was my unfor- 
mulated hope ; but I had lost my bearings, and knew 
not where I was. Then at the last I stumbled up 
against something — a chair, I think; and then I 
stood still, for the dread held me. Quite still I stood 
till a match was struck, and the candle relighted, 
and I found myself face to face with Jesse Pimpernel. 
I had known whom I was going to see, but I think 
I must have partly forgotten the terror of his face, 
or else now, for the first time, the full evil of his 
soul stood revealed in it. I neither stirred nor spoke, 
and he for a while did not speak : he only smiled. 
I cannot attempt to describe that smile, but as I 
met it, I seemed to know for the first time what 
fear really was. And then I saw a strange thing; 
behind Jesse’s face, some few yards behind it, I saw 
another face, perfectly white, like the face of a corpse, 
and with wide strained eyes. I did not know it for 
my own face reflected in the mirror, I did not realise 
what it was till I and it moved ; for it bore no likeness 
to the face my glass had hitherto held up to me 
as my own. I moved at last, when Jesse spoke. 

“ Little Hester,” he said ; and then I shrank back 
a step ; involuntarily, for I knew that as soon as I 
stirred, he would stretch out his arm and touch me. 

And so it was ; he put his hand on mine. “ You 
would not give me your hand when we said good- 
bye. Never mind. There will be no more good- 
byes between you and me.” 

I did not attempt to speak, and I made no re- 
sistance when he led me to a chair, and put me into 
it : I made no effort to escape when he kneeled down 
before me and put his hands upon my knees, and 
looked at me, his face close, quite close to mine. 

19 


282 the strange STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 


“ And now,” he said, “ little Hester, what have 
you to say ? ” 

I found my voice then — at least a voice uttered 
itself, a firm distinct voice, which must have been 
mine, though it sounded in some odd way, a long 
way off ; and I spoke, and must have spoken con- 
sciously, though it seemed to me that until I heard 
the words, I did not know what I was going to say. 
I made what afterwards seemed to me a curious 
answer to his question. I asked another question. 

“Was it you in Ireland?” I said. 

“ Yes.” 

“ That evening in the garden ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“And on the lawn in the night?” ^ 

“So you saw me! Yes.” 

“ Did you come to try and rob me ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Of the locket?” 

He nodded. “ To see if such a thing would be 
possible.” 

“ The boys,” I said, and such a strange little sob 
rose suddenly in my throat and broke my speech^ 
“ the boys protected me.” 

“ At the time,” he answered. 

“ And in London ? ” I went on, still in that dream- 
like way, the foreground of my consciousness 
dimmed I suppose by fear, and the background 
seeming to hold but one idea — the wish to have the 
past made clear. 

“ In London what?” asked Jesse. 

“ It was still you ? ” 

“ Who played at ghosts and gave you brain fever? 
Yes, it was I, always I ; except twice, when it was 
Mother.” 


THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 


283 


“ And in Derbyshire ? ” 

“ Still 1.” 

“ And at Granbigh Hold — after — you had said 
good-bye ? ” 

“ Of course. And always, directly or indirectly, 
you thwarted me. It would have been well for you 
if you had let me have my way.” 

“ Did you go to America ? ” that me within the 
conscious me still questioned. 

He seemed to take a sort of pleasure in answering 
me. “ No, but I should have gone, if I had got the 
jewels that night. And you would have escaped 
this.” 

I held my breath. 

“ And what,” I said after a pause, during which 
neither of us moved, “ is this? ” 

“ Can’t you guess ? you of the seeing eyes and the 
intuitions. Can’t you guess, little Hester?” 

I would not meet the question, for now the whole 
of my consciousness was becoming acute, and the 
thing I feared was too dread to acknowledge. 

“ I know,” I answered, “ that I have been lured 
here, and trapped and held a prisoner.” 

“Yes,” he said, “and then?” 

I could only repeat his words : “ And then ? ” 

He paused, and often now in my dreams I see 
his face as it looked at that moment. 

“ I said I would woo you no more,” he said at 
last ; “ nor will I ; the time for soft ways and speech 
is over. And yet, little Hester, I will have you for 
my wife.” 

“ No,” my lips said, “ no.” 

“ Do you think you can escape me ? Not so. It 
is marriage or murder now, my dear, and marriage 
suits me best.” 


284 STRANGE STORY OE HESTER WYNNE. 

I cannot tell you how those words affected me, 
those two words, “ my dear ” ; but a rush of fierce 
hatred and horror filled the whole of me, and I 
pushed his face away with convulsive hands, cry- 
ing: “ No, and again no. Kill me if you will, but 
I will kill myself, sooner than do your will."'' 

He was so much stronger than I was, and in a 
minute he had mastered my hands, and held them 
prisoners in his ; and then — and then his face touched 
mine and he kissed me. I don’t know what I did; 
I think I spat at him ; but I know I heard him laugh ; 
and his next words held me very still. 

“ I will smother you with kisses,” he whispered 
close to my ear, “ if you move.” I 

“ And now,” he went on presently, “ now to 
business. If I killed you I should get — through 
Mother — a third of your fortune : if I marry you I 
get that and more — enough to do — well what the 
jewels would have enabled me to do, and to live free 
of care for the rest of my life.” 

“ I will make over to you,” I breathed, “ all that 
I have, the jewels and all, if ” 

“ Yes, and have me run in when you were free. 
No, no, little Hester. And besides, 1 want you ; I 
want to break your spirit and to do away with that 
pride of yours.” 

In spite of the fear and the danger, a sort of 
defiance came over me, and knowing myself abso- 
lutely in his power, knowing that he could do no 
more than his worst, I let it loose. 

“ You may break my heart,” I said, “ and destroy 
my body, but you cannot touch me — me, the spirit 
of me. I can and shall always despise you.” 

But I had not known the worst. 

“ Can’t I touch you ? ” He waited. “ Look 


THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 285 

here/’ he said ; “ if I kill you, before I kill you, I 
will drive you mad with terror.” 

Suddenly and while I looked at him, he had 
horribly distorted his face ; madness, real or simu- 
lated was in his eyes; wickedness such as I had 
never dreamed of, possessed his countenance. All 
my life I had had a horror of anything ugly, ab- 
normal, grotesque ; as a child grimacing had always 
set me shrieking; and he knew, Jesse knew, as he 
managed to know most things about me, just how 
most surely to terrify me. As I saw that face, close 
to me, working, mowing, gibing, my self-control left 
me, and my terror uttered itself in a scream. Only 
the one, for his hand was on my mouth. 

“ Enough,” he said, “ just to show you what you 
defy. And now, good-night.” 

He led me, I think, as far as my room, led me 
perhaps to my bedside. I can’t say, for I remem- 
ber nothing clearly till I found myself alone, lying 
on my bed, and saying over and over again : “ Help 
me, God ! help me, God ! help me ! ” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


I MAKE PLANS. 

When I awoke the next morning — for I slept, 
after a while, that night, slept soundly and continu- 
ously — I suppose because I was quite worn out — my 
first thought was the thought of Jesse’s face; my 
second was how, by any means whatsoever, I could 
escape from the horror of it. I had spoken truly 
when I said that I would kill myself sooner than 
submit to his will ; but he might, when the worst 
came to the worst, prevent my destroying myself, 
might first — I shrank from imagining all that he 
might do, and all the while imagination suggested 
to me possibilities of suffering such as had never 
dawned on me till last night. I rose and dressed, 
shuddering as the thought crossed me : Was he in 
the house now? and how long had he been there 
unknown to me, watching me, perhaps, biding his 
time? 

I managed to slip my note into Beta’s hand, and 
I made some poor effort at maintaining my com- 
posure during breakfast, more for the sake of my 
own self-esteem, I think, than with any idea of 
keeping up a show of courage before Mrs. Pim- 
pernel ; and when we rose from the table, I followed 
my godmother into her private room, the room be- 
hind the dining-room, and said in as smooth a voice 
as I could muster that I wished to speak to her. 

286 


I MAKE PLANS. 


287 


There is but one communication,” she an- 
swered,, “ that can make any difference now — that 
you have repented of your girlish pride and folly and 
are prepared to marry the man who loves you.” 

I thought of that scene . in the night, and the 
grotesqueness of her words touched something in 
me that sent forth an odd sound — I don’t know now 
whether it was a sob or a laugh ; and that was all 
the answer I made her. 

“ Hester,” she said, speaking more quickly than 
was her wont, “ you must marry him.” 

“ Did he tell you,” I asked, “ about — last night ? ” 

She nodded, and repeated her former words: 

You must marry him.” 

“ Or he will kill me.” 

At my words her composure deserted her and 
she gave" a sort of cry. “ Hester, Hester, Hester, he 
must not kill you; you must not let him kill you.” 

“ I would rather that than marry him,” I said. 

“ No, no, no, it must not be. You would be 
happy, Hester; I am his mother and I know; he 
would be good to you.” 

Jesse good! I shuddered, and as I thought of 
the face that haunted me I threw myself at her feet. 

“ Oh, help me I ” I cried. All my scorn and de- 
fiance had gone ; I was helpless, broken, terrified ; I 
thought only that here was a woman who had been 
young once, as I was young, had been my mother’s 
friend, and would make an effort, surely, surely, to 
save me. “Oh, if you knew,” I said, “if you had 
been there last night, if you had seen ” 

“ If you would submit to him,” she answered, and 
her voice trembled more I think than mine, “ if you 
would go his way, he would be kind — he was be- 
fore — he used to me — I remember — Oh, it is you, 


288 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

you” she broke out, and pushed me from her as I 
knelt, “ who have changed him.” 

I rose to my feet. “ If it is money,” I said ; “ if 
he is in need, trouble, danger ” 

“ Danger ! Oh,” she interrupted, “ yes, till he 
is away from this place and land.” 

“ In danger from the want of it, he shall have all 
I have, all I can give to him — money — the jewels — 
all, if you will only save me and let me go.” 

“ I can’t. Only by your death, or by mar- 
riage ” 

“ But surely,” I broke in, “ what belongs to me, 
what is mine absolutely, the jewels and that thirteen 
thousand pounds that I can do as I like with, surely 
I can give them, make a deed, a contract, a — there 
must be a way.” 

I knew very little about law, reader, but it 
seemed to me that it must be possible to give away 
one’s possessions if one wanted to, and I would have 
given every half-penny I possessed to escape from 
Jesse Pimpernel. 

“ No, no,” she murmured, “ and I cannot risk it, 
I could not be sure, and my first duty is to him. I 
can risk nothing — I must save him at all costs.” 

“ Let me write to Mr. Crosbitt,” I said, and 
ask if there is a way.” 

Something of Mrs. Pimpernel’s usual manner 
came back to her. “Write to Mr. Crosbitt! Are 
you mad ? ” 

“ I would say nothing but that. You should see 
the letter. It would be only on business.” 

“ I can’t risk it — because of the time. It would 
be — I know — but the time — and besides ” 

“ But if he kills me I ” I said. 

Her face paled and she looked at me strangely 


I MAKE PLANS. 


289 

and in silence. Then she spoke, but not to me. “ If 
I risk my own soul,” she said, “ shall I stop for 
her? No.” She paused, and after a space — of re- 
flection was it, or struggle ? — repeated that last 
word : “ No.” Then, urged by what impulse, I 
know not, she struck me with her open hand across 
the face, and went out of the room and left me. 

In the night, very late, or rather in the early 
morning when it was drawing on towards the dawn, 
I crept forth from my window and stole round to the 
back of the house. As I turned the corner I stopped 
short, for in the window of the annexe a light was 
burning. I had to pass this window, and fear leaped 
up in me. But while I hesitated, reason recovered 
itself and told me that only through sound was I 
in danger ; outside in the darkness I was invisible. I 
crept on. Beta’s casement was ajar, and I did not 
even give a tap upon the glass before pushing it 
open, so afraid was I of making any sound which 
might be overheard ; she would be awaiting me, I 
knew. It was dark in the room and I heard nothing 
as I clambered in. 

“ Are you there? ” I whispered. 

A whisper answered me. “ Who is it ? ” 
Hester.” 

Then I heard her moving towards me, and pres- 
ently she took my hand and led me to the bed: we 
both sat dov^n, side by side, on the edge of it. 

“ I dared not speak,” she said. “ Jesse came 
once — like that.” 

Then you knew he was here.” 

“ I have known for days. I hardly knew whether 
or not to tell you. But I hear that you have seen 
him.” 


290 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

Yes,” I said, and then we were both silent, for 
we felt, and in some dumb way agreed, that it was 
impossible to speak of Jesse. 

“ Beta,” I said presently, “ I may have Bobby’s 
telegram any day now. As soon as it comes you 
must go.” 

“ But how?” 

“ You must swim the moat. You can swim, 
thank Heaven. I can’t : so you must go alone.” 

“ But I cannot — I will not leave you, Hester.” 

“ My only chance is for you to leave me and get 
help ; and indeed, whether we hear or not, it will 
be better for you to make the attempt to-morrow 
night. If we hear, you must go to Ballarat, 
where he will be; if not, to Ardvalloch to Mrs. 
Brabrook.” 

“ And when — at what hour ? ” 

“ Early, as soon as the house is still. No — stay 
— there is a moon. We must wait till it sets ; about 
this hour, about three.” 

“And if we fail? if Jesse ” 

“ We must not fail,” I said. “ And now, I had 
better go.” 

But Beta held me. “Do you know ?” she 

asked. All the time we had spoken in whispers, but 
now her voice was so low that I could only just catch 
her words. 

“ What Jesse means to do? ” I answered. “ Yes, 
he means to force me to marry him.” 

“ And— and ” 

“And anything else? Surely that is bad enough,” 
I answered, for I did not want to frighten her more 
than I could help. “ I know everything,” I went on, 
“ for he told me himself ; I know the very worst ; you 
need not be afraid.” 


I MAKE PLANS. 


291 


Then I kissed her, groped my way very carefully 
to the window, which showed now faint signs of the 
dawn, and lowered myself to the ground. The light 
was out in Jesse’s room, but it was with a quaking 
heart nevertheless that I rounded the corner of the 
house and found my way back to bed. 


CHAPTER XLVIL 


THE CUPBOARD WITH THE GLASS DOOR. 

The very next morning the telegram came. Mrs. 
Pimpernel of course opened it, but when she saw the 
apparent harmlessness of the contents she handed it 
on to me. It was worded according to my instruc- 
tions : Cousin very ill. Going North W ales; but 
there was an addition : Starting morning train. It 
was signed of course, Loveday. I felt the blood rush 
to my face as I read it, but Mrs. Pimpernel, I fancy, 
thought that my emotion was caused by disappoint- 
ment and that I had expected some other communi- 
cation. She made no remark, however, and indeed 
the household at that time was for the most part a 
silent one. At lunch, I broke the silence by saying 
to Beta : “ I have had a telegram from Mrs. Love- 
day.’’ 

“ Oh,” said Beta nervously. 

“ Yes. Her cousin is ill and she started this 
morning to go to her.” 

“ Is it — is it far? ” Beta asked. 

She will arrive I should think some time this 
evening.” 

It was a puzzle to me that since I had known of 
Jesse being in the house, he had not openly shown 
himself, and I began to wonder whether Bracewell 
and Manningby were aware of his presence. I was 
292 


THE CUPBOARD WITH THE GLASS DOOR. 293 

inclined to think they were not, and from what Mrs. 
Pimpernel had said, it seemed evident that Jesse 
himself was in some kind of danger. I was in my 
own room, where I spent now the greater part of my 
time, pondering over the mystery of it all, when Man- 
ningby came with a message from Mrs. Pimpernel 
to the effect that she wished to see me. I found her 
in the little room at the back of the dining-room ; 
she was standing by the window and did not look 
round till some minutes after I had entered. When 
at last she turned, she spoke hurriedly, though with 
constant little pauses between the words. 

“ I have been thinking that if you wrote at once — 
to the brokers — and told them to sell immediately — 
for cash — it might be possible — to get the money that 
way.” 

“ Do you mean ? ” I began, hardly daring to 

hope anything. 

“ I mean that at the worst — if it came to the very 
worst, I would save you ” ; and as if to herself, she 
added : “ and him.” 

“ Save me you mean from ” 

“ Yes.” We neither of us said the word that was 
in our minds. 

“ Help me to escape? ” 

She bent her head, and then : “ The post goes 
soon,” she said. 

I sat down and wrote, at her dictation, a letter to 
my brokers, asking them to sell immediately, for 
cash, all the stocks standing in my name, and to 
send me at once, a cheque for the amount. I knew 
nothing about business or law or anything of the 
kind, but I was willing to do anything, attempt any- 
thing, on the bare chance of escaping from the 
horror of falling into Jesse’s hands. 


294 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

I had just finished the letter and Mrs. Pimpernel 
had closed and stamped it, when again, as two days 
before, I heard wheels and horses’ hoofs upon the 
bridge. My godmother heard them too, and I knew, 
as for one swift instant our eyes met, that the 
thought which had arisen in my mind was also in 
hers. We both stood motionless and waited till 
Manningby appeared, the expected words on her 
lips. “ Mrs. Brabrook has called and wants to see 
Miss Wynne.” 

“ Miss Wynne is not in.” 

“ So I said, and she said she would see yow.” 

“ Tell her I am not well and can see nobody 
to-day; that Miss Wynne will write.” 

In two minutes Manningby was back. “ She 
says she must either see you or wait till Miss Wynne 
comes in.” 

Mrs. Pimpernel hesitated and her brow grew 
black. 

“ I suppose it would not do,” she said at last ; 

“ it would excite No, I shall have to see her. 

Take her into the drawing-room, but first ” 

In an instant she had seized my arm, dragged 
me across the room, and almost before I could 
attempt even to withstand her, I found myself pushed 
into the china cupboard, and the door shut and 
locked behind me. 

“ If you scream or call,” my godmother’s voice 
said, “Jesse will come”; and then indistinctly, 
through the panes of thickened glass which formed 
the upper part of the door, I saw her leave the room. 

It was nearly dark in the cupboard, or seemed 
so after the full day from which I had been exiled, 
for very little light came in through the thick col- 
oured glass ; and for a minute or so it was altogether 


THE CUPBOARD WITH THE GLASS DOOR. 295 

Still : then, quite close to me, as it seemed, I heard 
the sound of voices. Whence did they come? My 
eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom now, 
and I was able to take my bearings. The cupboard 
was large and lofty, more like a room, in fact, than 
a cupboard; one side and end of it were fitted with 
wide shelves, and the standing space was thus re- 
duced to a passage between these shelves and the 
length of bare wall which faced them. It was from 
the other side of this wall that the voices came, and 
as I reflected upon the position of my prison, I 
realised that it was the wall which ran along the end 
of the drawing-room. But how could I hear so 

well ? The wall must be unusually thin, or Sight 

was coming dimly to my aid now, and T could in- 
distinctly see and, by passing my hand along the 
wall’s surface, distinctly feel, a door about the middle 
of its length. It was papered over on the further 
side, and in the drawing-room there was no sign 
of it ; but it was easy to understand now how I heard 
so distinctly, for the woodwork had shrunk and left 
a space, in which I could insert a finger, between the 
door and its frame. Standing close to it, I had no 
difficulty in hearing what was said, and I had no 
scruples about listening; for the voices which spoke 
were the voices of my godmother and Mrs. Bra- 
brook. But I had no sooner settled myself to listen 
than an idea occurred to me. I carried a pair of 
pocket scissors ; and with these scissors I bored a 
hole in the paper which, in the space between the 
door and its frame, was all that stood between me 
and the speakers. Thus I could see as well as hear, 
and throughout the scene which followed, I was 
as much present as if I had been actually in the 
room with the actors in it. 


296 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ I will wait till Hester comes in,” Mrs. Brabrook 
was saying. 

I could see that Mrs. Pimpernel was disturbed, I 
who knew the signs of her face so well ; but she 
maintained her impassive demeanour. 

“ I am afraid she may be very late,” she answered. 
“ She has gone a long distance.” 

“ Still I will wait.” 

“ It is just possible that — that she may not return 
to-night at all. Her friends whom she has gone to 
visit may keep her. Another day perhaps — if you 
would come back ” 

“ If I go away without seeing Hester Wynne,” 
Mrs. Brabrook said, “ I shall not come back alone.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” Mrs. Pimpernel asked, 
startled but imperious. 

“ That I am not satisfied.” 

“As to what?” 

Both women had risen, and again I was struck 
by the contrast between them ; the one slight and 
thin, yet with a distinct presence, the other, self- 
confident indeed, but ponderous and awkward. 

“ As to Hester’s position here.” 

“ Her position ! And what do you suppose her 
position to be ? ” 

“ I am not sure — I will not lie or fence or beat 
about the bush with you — I am not sure that Hester 
is a free agent here ! ” 

“ You insult me,” Mrs. Pimpernel cried. “ Hes- 
ter shall come and see you as soon as she returns. 
But for the present I must beg you to leave my 
house.” 

“ I will leave it,” the other replied, “ but — I will 
return.” 

Oh, how I longed to warn her, to stop her saying 


THE CUPBOARD WITH THE GLASS DOOR. 297 

those words, for she did not know — and indeed how 
should she? — as I knew, the perils of that house. 
She moved towards the door, but Mrs. Pimpernel 
advanced and barred her way. 

“ If you will wait a minute,” she said, “ I will see 
if, by any chance, Hester has returned before 
you go.” 

She left the room, and I knew very well that she 
was going to consult Jesse. 

I tried to attract Mrs. Brabrook’s attention ; I 
wanted to say to her : “ Go now — before she comes 
back. Make haste to the carriage and get in and 
drive away, and save yourself and me ! ” But she 
had gone right down to the far end of the long room 
and was looking out of the window ; only by a loud 
call could I have made her hear me, and that I dared 
not give. I was beginning to think though, that 1 
would risk it, so perilous did the situation seem to 
me, when the door opened and Mrs. Pimpernel re- 
turned. 


20 


CHAPTER XLVIIL 


ELIZABETH BRABROOK’s TEMPTATION. 

I WAS Struck at once by my godmother’s ap- 
pearance. She was deadly pale, with the greenish 
pallor of sallowness, and little beads of moisture 
stood out upon her forehead ; her lips twitched, her 
eyes, ordinarily dull, were startled and intent, her 
hands moved nervously. She stood for a minute 
unable, as it seemed to me, to speak ; and through 
the silence I heard the sound of wheels and of horses’ 
hoofs upon the bridge. Mrs. Brabrook heard them 
too and started forward. 

“What’s that?” 

“ Yes,” Mrs. Pimpernel answered slowly, “ the 
carriage has gone. You will have — to stay here.” 

A little quiver crossed Mrs. Brabrook’s face, but 
she said only one word : “ Why ? ” 

“ Because,” my godmother answered in a low 
voice, “ I dare not let you go.” 

“ Dare not ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ It would not be safe.” 

“ Do you mean that I, like Hester Wynne, am 
a prisoner ? ” 

“ Why did you come here ? ” Mrs. Pimpernel 
asked. Her slow speech left her, and the words 
poured forth in a torrent ; “ or, having come, why 
did you not go away when I gave you the chance? 

298 


ELIZABETH BRABROOK’S TEMPTATION. 299 

why did you insist upon interfering, upon finding 
out? Why did you not take my word and go away 
from this house and its doings? I didn’t want to 
hurt you — any more than her; and if you hadn’t 
interfered, it would have been all right — in the long 
run; for Hester Wynne, as for us all; I swear it be- 
fore God, it would have been all right. But 

now ” She broke off and threw out her arms 

and let them fall with a gesture of despair. 

Mrs. Brabrook put forth her hand and leaned 
upon the table. “ But now ? ” she said. 

“ Now you must stay here, a prisoner, till — it is 
over.” 

“Till what is over?” 

“ That I cannot tell you. Something that must 
be done, and done secretly, though afterwards — 
afterwards it will be, I have always told her so, all 
right.” 

Mrs. Brabrook did not answer at once, but 
presently she drew a long breath. “ So Hester was 
right,” she said ; then, to my godmother : “You may 
keep me here,” she went on, “ but it cannot be for 
long. To-morrow ” 

“ To-morrow ? ” said Mrs. Pimpernel as she 
paused. 

“ To-morrow my son arrives at Ardvalloch. If 
he does not find me there, he will come on.” 

“ He must not come.” 

“ He is sure to come.” 

“ I tell you he must not come. If he comes 
here ” 

“Well?” 

“Jesse is desperate. He will stop — at nothing 
now.” 

“ My son is no coward, whatever yours rnay be.” 


300 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Coward ! ” cried Mrs. Pimpernel. “ Ah, you 
don’t know. What does Jesse fear? Nothing — 
nothing. Not even,” she ended in a whisper, “ not 
even God.” She twisted her hands together and 
paced to and fro in the room. Mrs. Brabrook stood 
quite still and watched her. Suddenly she drew near 
again and halted. 

“ All through,” she said, “ I have tried to avoid 
— the worst. Do you think I want him stained — 
my son — with crime? And now, if you will listen 
to me, if you will do as I say, they may be saved 
— both your son and mine.” 

“And Hester? How will you answer to God 
and her mother, your friend, for her ? ” 

“ I will save her ; for Susan’s sake I will risk 
what I am risking, to save her.” 

“ What is that?” 

“Never mind. Will you listen to me?” 

“ Go on.” 

“ You must write to your son and tell him not 
to come ; that you are staying here for a week, and 
then will join him, and that you do not want him to 
come. It will seem quite natural, for, so that the 
people at the inn may not have any suspicions as to 
your safety, I have sent them a note by the coachman 
asking them to send on your luggage here.’^ 

“ I will not lie,” said Mrs. Brabrook, and the 
Puritan in her was strong upon her face. 

“ You will not lie — once, when so much is at 
stake, when I ” 

“ Yes, it must be months since you spoke the 
truth.” 

I think my godmother scarcely noticed the taunt, 
so intent was she on persuading the other to her will. 
She stood for awhile, thinking, thinking, and I 


ELIZABETH BRABROOK’S TEMPTATION. 301 

seemed to see the tumult of her soul through her 
heavy countenance. 

“ Keep him,” she said at last, “ keep him away, 
only for three days. Say whatever you like, only 
don’t let him come. If I had but three days, it might 
be done.” 

“ I will do nothing, unless I know what you mean 
to do with Hester Wynne.” 

“ She will be safe. I swear that no violence shall 
be done her if you will consent.” 

“ She must go away from here.” 

“ I don’t know. I will try — at the end.” 

“ I must see and speak to her.” 

“ No, no, it is impossible. Jesse ” 

Then I will do nothing.” 

And if harm comes of it, if there should be 
bloodshed ” 

“ The blood will be upon your soul in the day 
when you shall stand up before God and meet the 
eyes of Susan Wynne, who trusted you.” 

My godmother shook through her whole ponder- 
ous frame, and sank into a chair, her face all drawn 
and changed. 

“ She trusted me,” she muttered, “ Susan, Susan ! 
And he trusts me. The two I loved the best, the 
only two. But he — he is the dearest. No, no, I 
can’t help it ; I must be true to him.” 

So she sat for a while, and the other stood, and 
it was quite silent. By-and-bye my godmother got 
up and came close to Mrs. Brabrook and put one 
hand upon her shoulder. Her back was towards me 
and I could not see her face now, but I could see 
that other face, clear cut, stern and passionless. 

‘‘ I will tell you what we will do,” Mrs. Pimpernel 
said. Hester shall be saved, and by your son ; but 


302 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

it must not be for three days, till I have time to 
get a letter that — I expect.” 

I knew what she meant — the letter which would 
hand over to her all that I possessed. 

“ For Susan’s sake I will do this,” she continued, 
“ and because I dare not risk — never mind, but he 
must not come here, your son.” She waited, but 
Mrs. Brabrook never spoke and she went on. “ Hes- 
ter was to have married my son. She shall marry 
yours.” 

Then for the first time Mrs. Brabrook’s face 
changed ; a rush of blood coloured it, and ebbed away 
and left it pale again ; but the lips went on quivering. 

“ You have wanted this I know,” Mrs. Pim- 
pernel’s voice went on, “ and she wants it. If you 
will agree to my plan, this shall be your reward.” 

“ John will never marry. What you say is use- 
less.” 

“ I could arrange it. In Scotland marriages — 
there is a contract — prepared — and Jesse for one 
day will have to go — I could arrange it and when 
he was once here, your son, and knew it was the 

only chance ” She waited while my heart beat 

five times in my throat. 

” You have wanted this so much,” she said in a 
low voice, “ and it would save him. If he lives un- 
married, lonely, after you are gone, it is sure to get 
the better of him, this enemy that you dread.” 

I witnessed then a strange and terrible thing, the 
perfectly silent struggle of a soul in temptation. The 
face grew paler, that cold, self-mastering face, and 
the eyes widened ; the lips moved slightly, and the 
breath quickened; otherwise she showed hardly a 
physical sign of the battle within. And yet I saw 
it fought, saw it in the still eyes and the tense atti- 


ELIZABETH BRABROOK’S TEMPTATION. 303 

tude, felt it in the atmosphere that surrounded her 
and penetrated to me. She was too clear-headed a 
woman to be blinded by sophistries, too direct to 
deceive herself, too simple-minded to allow any 
mingling of right and wrong. Mrs. Pimpernel 
watched her. 

“ You would save him,” she murmured, “ and it 
is the only way you will ever get him to do what both 
you and he want.” 

She breathed louder now, John’s mother, but 
very slowly. Would she yield? I seemed to know 
it was the first real temptation that life had ever 
brought her, the first time that an earthly love had 
ever tempted her from the rigid performance of duty : 
and even at the time, even in the midst of my sus- 
pense and agony, it struck me as curious that these 
two women, who in other days had found a bond 
in the condemnation of the sins of the flesh, should 
now both reach the direst extremity of temptation 
through what would be called the purest of all 
affections, the mother’s love for the child. 

“ I don’t see,” Elizabeth Brabrook said at last, 
“ how I could be sure that marriage would be in- 
evitable.” 

“ Because once here, escape is impossible with- 
out my aid.” 

“ Why should you force a marriage between 
Hester and my son ? ” 

The struggle still went on; I heard it in the 
tones of the usually firm voice and saw it in the set 
face. 

'' Because then, if she were married, pursuit 
would be useless — and Susan’s eyes — I could meet 
them. But I must have the letter first.” 

“ To save the girl he loves,” I heard John’s 


304 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

mother say, but I think she did not know she spoke 
aloud, “ to save her he would do it.” 

“ It is the only way,” urged Mrs. Pimpernel, “ to 
save her and him, and it may be, yourself.” 

Then Mrs. Brabrook came back to herself. 

“ Do you think I fear death ? ” she asked scorn- 
fully. 

I knew she did not ; I knew that for her the great 
temptation lay, not in the chance of escape, but in 
the possibility of accomplishing that purpose on 
which she had set all her hopes and energies ; and 
I knew too that where another woman would not 
have hesitated, counting the deceit she would have 
to use as of no account in comparison with the good 
which would result if she followed the desire of her 
heart, this woman would make no bargain with cir- 
cumstance, but count any deviation from what she 
held to be right a sin. If she yielded now, the fall 
for her would be as great, as had been Mrs. Pim- 
pernel’s when first she agreed to further Jesse’s will. 
There was a minute during which I thought she 
would yield, during which the human side — call it 
strength or weakness — the heart in her demanded 
its desire. She hesitated, but the habit of a lifetime 
and the bias of her nature reasserted themselves, and 
she did not yield. The tenseness of her attitude 
relaxed, her face took its normal lines, and I knew 
then what she would do. She faced Mrs. Pimpernel. 

“ I refuse,” she said. “ Marriage is a holy thing, 
and I will take no part in a fraud : neither will I lie 
to save either myself or those dear to me, or to 
attain my heart’s desire. For the rest we are in 
God’s hands, and unless He wills, no evil can 
befall us.” 

“ Is that your last word? ” 


ELIZABETH BRABROOK’S TEMPTATION. 305 

“ I have nothing more to say.” 

Slowly my godmother turned and crossed the 
room. A few paces away she stopped short and 
started, and then, looking beyond her, I saw a form 
outside the window, and a face pressed close to the 
panes, — the face of Jesse Pimpernel. I wondered 
how long he had been there. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


beta’s flight. 

When Mrs. Pimpernel released me from the 
cupboard, she led me at once to my own room and 
locked me in, and there I remained all night, and the 
greater part of the next day; for the purpose, I 
suppose, of preventing any communication between 
me and Mrs. Brabrook. However, I did not much 
mind, not that evening at least; it was easier to be 
alone than to bear the strain of my godmother’s pres- 
ence ; and after all that I had seen and heard, know- 
ing all that I now knew, the necessity for Beta’s 
flight, the issues that depended upon it, created such 
a burden of suspense and anxiety as would have 
made it difficult for me to keep up that outward con- 
trol of myself which pride urged me to maintain. 
My heart was sore, though, for the woman whose 
courage in coming to seek me had brought her into 
imminent danger, and I would have given much for 
five minutes in which to thank her, to bid her be 
of good cheer, to tell her of the hope that lay in 
Beta’s flight. But it was not to be : during the time 
that Mrs. Brabrook and I were at Glamarnie to- 
gether, we never met. 

Manningby brought me in some food — about 
nine o’clock I think it was, and then again locked 
me in, and nobody else came near me that night. 

306 


BETA’S FLIGHT. 


307 


The house was very quiet ; hardly a sound did I hear 
all through the long hours during which I sat and 
waited ; but late, between eleven o’clock and mid- 
night, I heard low voices in the hall, Jesse and his 
mother conferring together after the rest of us were 
prisoned for the night. Then the voices ceased, 
and silence held its own. I sat and watched the 
waxing moon as it climbed slowly down the sky. It 
was for its setting that I waited, and I dared not 
lie down upon the bed for fear, though I felt as if I 
never should sleep again, that sleep nevertheless 
might overtake me. Midnight struck and one and 
two o’clock. It was quite dark now, the moon was 
gone, the dawn was not very far distant ; it was time 
to go forth and give what aid I could in starting Beta 
on her way. Very carefully I opened my window and 
went out into the dark and cold. In my soft felt slip- 
pers I could cross the drive and find my way noise- 
lessly to the bridge. Beside it I stood and waited. 
Was Beta on her way to join me? Would she be 
long? It seemed long, so did suspense lengthen out 
the moments, but I think I could not have stood more 
than five minutes there before I caught a white glim- 
mer coming slowly towards me from the corner of 
the house. “ Is it you? ” I asked when it was quite 
close. 

“ Yes. Will you take my clothes?” 

She had fastened them together in a bundle, and 
I took them while she loosed the fastening of her 
nightdress and let it fall from her to the ground. 

I stretched out my hand and touched her as she 
stood there shivering in her nakedness. 

“ Good-bye, dear,” I said, “ good-bye.” 

She stole down the bank to the moat and I 
heard the sound of her entering the water, and in 


3o8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

the great stillness could follow the strokes of her 
swimming as she made for the opposite bank. Then 
at last, — for it seemed such a long, long time, — her 
voice was at the other side of the bridge gate : “ I 
am here.” 

I threw the bundle over to her and waited there 
while she dressed. Then came her voice again : “ I 
am ready. Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye. In a few hours you will be with 
him.” 

I waited till I knew she must be well on her 
way down the drive, and then I stole back again 
to my room and to the dread suspense of waiting. If 
I had known that even then, while the sound of 
her whispered words was still in my ear, before even 
she had covered the length of the drive, she had 
stumbled and fallen and so strained the muscles of 
her foot that walking was torture ; if I had known 
that not in a few hours would she reach the man 
who awaited her, but that all the next day in pain 
and weariness she was to drag herself slowly along 
the lonely roads till at last she came to her journey’s 
end ; if I had known all this, could I have borne the 
dread hours, the agony of suspense that followed ? I 
cannot say. I thank God now that I was kept in 
ignorance, that I did not know of Beta’s suffering 
and the futility of the hope I placed on her; for I 
needed all my strength, all my courage, all my hope 
for that which was yet to come. 


CHAPTER L. 


ALONE WITH THE DREAD. 

I KNEW the next morning at once when Beta’s 
flight was discovered, knew it by the sound of skur- 
rying feet that rushed hither and thither, of ques- 
tioning voices, of a general movement and stir in 
the house ; and I knew when my door was unlocked 
and Mrs. Pimpernel entered the room what she had 
come to say. 

“ Hester, do you know of this ? ” she began. 

“ Of what ? ” was all I thought it necessary to 
answer. 

“ Of this madness of Beta’s, this running away 
from home?” 

Again I answered by a question. Has she 
gone ? ” 

Yes, she’s gone, and I believe it’s your doing, 
your plan. Beta would never have thought or dared 
by herself. Oh, Hester Wynne, all my troubles have 

come through you ; and at this last ” She 

stopped abruptly and I sat silent and looked at her. 

“ Did you know of this ? ” she asked. 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

What use to ask me? You know if I denied it 
you would not believe what I said.” 

Where is she ? At least you shall tell me that.” 

I can’t, for I don’t know.” 


309 


310 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

This was true, and truer indeed than I thought, 
for whereas I supposed she must be now nearing 
Ardvalloch, she was, as a matter of fact, no great 
distance away from Glamarnie. Mrs. Pimpernel 
looked at me intently. 

“ I believe you know all the same,” she said. 

But if you will not bend, Hester, there will come 
a time when you will be broken.” 

With these words she left me, and I sat and 
repeated them to myself : A time when you will 
be broken.” Was the time near? and should I at 
the last escape it? I had not Mrs. Brabrook’s 
scruples, and though I had told Mrs. Pimpernel no 
direct lie, during our late interview, I was aware that 
then, as on many other occasions, I had done my 
best to deceive her. But would the deceit avail ? and 
would Beta’s flight bring rescuers in time? That 
was the doubt which haunted me; and knowing 
Jesse Pimpernel, I feared that, with the prospect of 
discovery imminent, he would certainly take imme- 
diate action. Presently I saw him leave the house, 
much muffled up about the mouth and throat, and 
with his hat pressed low over his brows. He was 
no longer in hiding then, I supposed, especially as 
I saw him meet and speak to Bracewell as he crossed 
the garden. Well would it have been for him, as 
I knew afterwards, if he had continued to keep his 
presence hidden ; but Beta’s flight had left him no 
choice ; his arrangements had to be made at once, 
though he risked waiting for the darkness to carry 
them out. 

He had not been long gone when Mrs. Pimpernel 
again entered my room ; she held in her hand a 
paper. 

“ There is no time now,” she said, “ to get that 


ALONE WITH THE DREAD. 


3II 

money. It cannot possibly arrive for another two 
days; and everything that is to be done, must be 
done to-day.” 

“ To-day ! ” I exclaimed, and I know by the feel- 
ing at my heart that my face must have turned 
white. 

I think she was glad to see my emotion. 

“ Yes, to-day,” she repeated, “ to-day,” and then 
she stood and looked at me in an odd way that 
somehow frightened me. 

“ I would leave you to your fate,” she said at 
last, “ but for one — for two things ; the thought of 
your mother and the fact that my love for Jesse is 
greater than my hate for you. So I have brought 
this,” and she held up the paper. “ If you will sign 
this, it will save your life.” 

A sudden thought came to me. 

“ If Jesse kills me,” I said, “ he could never get 
the money ; he would have to fly the country for 
ever.” 

The money does not go to him direct,” she 
answered. “ It com.es to me. I have but to prove 
that in all that I did, I was not a free agent — as 
indeed I have not been— and I have proof that I 
tried to save you, that I tried all round to prevent 
bloodshed. I should get your money in the end, 
and then I could hand it over to him.” 

I was silent, wondering if it would be so. 

“ But I would rather,” she went on, “ keep Jesse 
from what he means to do, and so I have brought 
this paper.” 

^•Whatisit?” 

“ It is a contract — as we cannot wait for the 
money to come — a contract to hand over your for- 
tune to Jesse.” 


312 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

I held out my hand. 

“ Let me read it.” 

“ There is no time to read it. You must sign 
it at once if you sign at all. See — you have but to 
write your name here, at the end.” 

Reader, I knew, as I have said, nothing of law; 
I thought such a contract as she described might be 
possible and that it would be binding ; and the sign- 
ing it, she said, would save me. Jesse’s words were 
running in my head : If I kill you, before I kill you, 
I will drive you mad with terror. 

“ I will sign,” I said. 

The paper was folded so that only the first line 
was uncovered. “We the undersigned do hereby 
declare,” it ran. Mrs. Pimpernel turned the paper 
over, and I signed, below writing that I could not 
see, my name. She gave a little sort of gasp when 
I had done. 

“ It only remains for Jesse to sign it now.” 

“ Must Jesse sign? ” 

“ Of course. There are always two parties to a 
contract. Didn’t you see that it^began with ‘ We ’ ? ” 

Somehow as soon as I had signed that paper I 
felt uneasy, but yet ” 

“ And now,” I said, “ you will help me to escape.” 

“ To escape ! ” She looked at me strangely. 
“ Hardly. But I have saved your life.” 

And with that, hastily she crossed the room and 
left me. 

What was to happen then, if I was not to escape ? 
A rush of despair, black and horrible came over me, 
and then came a sort of weak helpless feeling, and, 
for the first time since the dread had come close to 
me, I began to cry. I cried for some time, quite 
quietly, without sobs or violent agitation, and I 


ALONE WITH THE DREAD. 


313 


thought of John, and how, if he only knew, he 
would hasten to come to me; and I thought of the 
boys, free and happy and careless at Shivdallagh, 
out spearing perhaps, or shooting on the hills, never 
dreaming of the peril and the agony that I, their 
friend and playmate, was enduring. But after a time 
I pulled myself together. There was hope still. 
Beta and Captain Bobby would not leave me to 
perish, and even now there might be signs of their 
coming. But I was to wait of course, in vain, for 
that coming, and throughout the day hope was to 
struggle unfed. 

About an hour, I suppose, after Mrs. Pimpernel 
left me, I saw Jesse return, and almost immediately 
afterwards, my door was unfastened and I was told 
to come forth. I was thankful that I had dried my 
tears and regained my composure, especially when 
on following Manningby to the room behind the 
dining-room, I saw both Jesse and his mother await- 
ing me. 

“ What are you going to do to me ? ” I asked. 

“ For the present, little Hester, just this.” 

Jesse came forward and seized my arms, and Mrs. 
Pimpernel held them while he fastened them se- 
curely behind my back. I need not describe it all, 
how I was gagged and made quite helpless : it is 
enough to say that when the power to speak or to 
move had been taken from me, I was consigned once 
more to my prison of the previous day, and once 
more locked in. Only sight and hearing were left 
to me now, and sight was useless, and hearing for 
some time had nothing upon which to exercise itself. 
But at last I became aware of voices in the drawing- 
room. They spoke in low tones and as I was some 
distance from the door which had served me so 
21 


314 STRANGE STORY OF HESTER WYNNE. 

well yesterday, I could not hear much of what was 
said : but now and again I caught words and phrases, 
and they told me much. 

“ Bracewell already gone,” was the first thing I 
distinguished and then — it was Jesse’s voice that 
spoke : “ I don’t like him going . . . quite trust 
him.” After that I lost a good many sentences ; the 
next I heard, I knew referred to me. “ Signed it 
. . . without much difficulty.” It was my god- 
mother speaking; and then came Jesse’s laugh, and 
the words in a louder key : “ Ah, little Hester ! She 
doesn’t hate me after all so much as she pretends 
to. Women are all alike.” What did he mean? 
What could he mean? but I was too much engaged 
in listening, to think much about it just then. “ In 
the centre drawer,” Mrs. Pimpernel said, “ the writ- 
ing-table.” 

Listening ever more and more intently, manag- 
ing somehow to wriggle a little nearer to my spy- 
hole, I gathered from what I overheard that Mrs. 
Pimpernel and Manningby were about to take flight, 
carrying Mrs. Brabrook with them. Jesse was to 
wait till the evening, till the darkness ; it grew dark 
pretty early now. And I ? What was to happen to 
me? Oh, I knew, I knew, before I heard the words 
that confirmed my fears : — “ come back for her after 
dark, if they should come, and I should have to hide 
for a time in the woods.” 

My hope dwindled lower and lower, for even if 
the rescuers should come soon, what chance had I 
to make my presence known to them, gagged and 
bound as I was? and evidently from what was said, 
all the doors and windows were to be left open, to 
show to anybody who might come, at a first glance, 
that the house was deserted. 


ALONE WITH THE DREAD. 


315 


The voices had sunk again, but presently I caught 
broken sentences : “ Two that I can trust ... a car- 
riage . . . Ballarat. ...” 

“ But how will they know ... ? ” 

“ The contract . . . sufficient passport. . . . Not 
my name, no . . . till the last moment . . . part 
payment in advance . . . good faith . . . runaway 
couple. . . .” Those were the last words I heard; 
but I had heard enough, enough to know that I 
was to be left in Jesse's power, to do with me as he 
would. 

Very soon the speakers left the room; there were 
sounds of movement, then wheels on the gravel and 
across the bridge ; and then a deadly stillness ; and 
I knew that in that desolate, far off house, I was 
alone with Jesse Pimpernel. 


CHAPTER LI. 


THE SCREAM. 

I HAVE often wondered of how many children 
besides invention, necessity is the mother. Of no 
other perhaps legitimately, yet has she many bas- 
tards, of which courage, I think — a forced, fictitious 
courage — is one. For, knowing that my case was 
indeed desperate, that I had only myself to depend 
on, only my own strength, my own power of re- 
source, my own nerve, a kind of despairing deter- 
mination began to work within me, and I resolved 
that until the very last moment I would cling to 
the skirts of hope, and that I would concentrate my 
mind, not on the dread possibilities which imagina- 
tion — ay and knowledge and experience too — held 
up before me, but upon the endeavour to invent, 
create or discover some means of escape. The first 
thing to do, I knew, was to free my hands, but they 
had been tightly bound, and my arms were stiff 
already from the unaccustomed position into which 
they had been forced. Still I must try, and I set 
myself deliberately to twist and stretch the folds of 
the scarf which secured them. It seemed impos- 
sible, and again and again I paused from sheer ex- 
haustion, and again and again I decided to give up 
the effort ; yet still, urged by some imperative man- 
date from within, persevered in what seemed a futile 
316 


THE SCREAM. 


317 


task. Futile it remained for a long, long time ; really 
long, I believe, apart from the laboured drag of those 
suspense-laden hours; for it was drawing on to- 
wards evening when at last I was conscious of some 
loosening of my bonds. Hope and the triumph of 
achievement gave me then fresh energy, and I pulled 
and stretched and twisted till at last, I was able to 
free one poor bruised, swollen hand. To release the 
other of course was easy, and easy was it too, to 
remove the gag which half choked me besides ren- 
dering me dumb. At once I drew close to my spy- 
hole and looked through. At first I thought the 
drawing-room was empty, so quiet was it ; but pres- 
ently, enlarging the hole slightly, so as to give me a 
greater range of vision, I saw Jesse seated at one 
side of the room. I soon perceived why he had 
chosen his position ; his seat commanded the win- 
dow, and the window, I knew, commanded the 
bridge. He was waiting then, as I was waiting, with 
just a strip of paper separating us, and a whole world 
of difference between our fears and hopes ; waiting 
and watching like me for that which never came. 

It was dusk now, and gradually his figure grew 
dimmer and dimmer in the waning light; and still 
he never moved. I knew now what I meant to do ; 
but I could not attempt it until he left the room ; and 
if he never did, never till the very latest moment — ? 
I held my thoughts back ; I would not let them stray 
beyond a certain point; for I. must keep my reason 
— at least till despair was absolute. The minutes 
crept on and on and the night closed about Gla- 
marnie. I knew how the fir trees, gaunt against the 
sky, would be fading and fading, how the bridge 
would be blotted out, how the whole world would 
be one black cloud; and in the midst of it Jesse and 


3i8 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

I alone ; and everything quite silent, till his voice 
should speak. Would he never move? Was he 
still there? Yes, for I felt his presence; yes, for at 
last he stirred. It was quite dark when he left his 
seat and broke the spell of stillness which seemed 
to hold us both. He struck a match and lighted a 
candle, and going over to the writing-table took from 
one of the drawers a paper— the same paper I 
thought, from the look of it, which Mrs. Pimpernel 
had brought me that morning to sign. He laid it 
on the table, and then, bearing the candle in his 
hand, left the room. Now was my time. My pocket 
knife was open and ready in my hand, the box which 
I had taken from one of the shelves to enable me 
to reach the top of the door, stood close beside me. 
Quickly I passed the blade between the door and 
its frame ; the bolt which fastened the door I had 
already withdrawn ; I had nothing to do but to slit 
the paper across the top and down one side. It 
was done, and I had pushed open the door and was 
in the drawing-room, and even as I passed out I 
heard the key turned in the lock of the cupboard. 
I had the presence of mind to push the door to be- 
hind me ; but I knew that in lesst^han a minute the 
way of my escape would stand revealed : I had but 
a few seconds in which to make good my flight. 
The first beams from the moon had reached the win- 
dow now, and stealing in showed me how to cross 
the room, showed me too, the white of the paper 
lying on the table. As I passed I seized it ; without 
conscious thought, but with a vague sense that it 
was better not to leave it there. I was across the 
room now, by the door, and as I opened it I heard 
Jesse’s voice. “ Little Hester,” it said. 

The sound of it gave me strength and gave me 


THE SCREAM. 


319 


wings : I sped through the hall, out through the open 
door and across the garden to the bridge. Then a 
terrible thought came over me — how should I cross 
it with that locked gate ? But the gate was open ; 
the moonlight showed me as much ere I reached it, 
and no doubt it had been left thus to give greater 
semblance of truth to the fiction that the house was 
empty. Across the bridge I flew, my footsteps 
sounding on the wood, since I could spare no time 
to soften them, and down the drive between the fir 
trees, conscious only of the wild mad longing to 
escape from the horror that was behind me. For 
Jesse — had he heard me as I crossed the bridge? — 
Jesse could not be long in any case in discovering 
my flight ; and if he had heard 

Already I seemed to hear in the distance, behind 
me, footsteps that pursued. Oh God! oh God! If 
my strength should fail me ! and the drive was long, 
and I dared not turn aside and seek a hiding place. 
I had no power to think ; I could only rush on and 
on, away from those following steps. I was nearly 
at the end of the drive, nearly had reached the gate, 
and somehow greater safety seemed to lie beyond its 
bars ; and then, all of a sudden I was brought up 
short, and my heart stood still, and the agony of 
despair fell over me. For out from the bushes 
sprang a man and seized my arm and held me. His 
grip was firm, but after a second he nearly let me go 
again. 

“ I thought,” he muttered, and then in the moon- 
light I recognised him ; he was the tramp who 
had come to Granbigh Hold, the man who had 
travelled north with me from Euston, and whom 
I had seen loitering outside the church at Ardval- 
loch. 


320 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

“ Oh, let me pass ! ” I prayed ; “ if there is any 
pity or mercy in you, let me pass ! ” 

“ You’re his pal,” he said, and tightened his grip. 
“ I won’t let you go till you tell me where he is.” 

“ Who, who ? I don’t know what you mean.” 

“ Yes, you do ; the one I was after in Devonshire. 
I remember you was there.” 

A light broke in upon me : the visitor, — he had 
asked that night for the visitor; it was Jesse he had 
wanted then, not me ; it was Jesse he wanted now. 

“ Where is he ? is he at the house ? ” the man 
repeated. 

I held up my hand. “ Listen ! ” For a couple of 
seconds we waited and heard the footsteps coming 
down the drive, and listened to them drawing nearer 
and nearer. 

“ He’s coming,” I whispered, “ behind me. He 
wants to kill me. Let me go ! ” 

Then again I was free, for the time at least, and 
rushing onward across the patches of moonlight and 
through the shadows ; onward, through the gate, and 
out on to the road that ran long weary miles to 
Ardvalloch. But soon in my flight I paused — just 
after I had passed the gate, paused at the sound of 
a pistol shot that rang out through the clear still- 
ness of the night and echoing died away amongst 
the hills ; and in the pause my blood ran cold, for a 
scream went with the shot, a scream that haunts me 
sometimes still. Then I set out to run again, pos- 
sessed by the one wild longing to reach some sort 
of shelter and of help. But I had not gone many 
paces when round the bend of the road I saw some- 
one coming towards me — the figure of a man. Was 
he enemy or friend? I stood still and trembled, for 
fear was strong upon me now and my strength was 


THE SCREAM. 


321 


failing. I was about to sink to the ground when 
the figure hastened, ran towards me, and a voice 
spoke — a voice I knew and loved and longed for. 

“ Hester, Hester, can that be you ? ” 

And then, with a cry, and with a rush of relief 
that was pain I fell into John’s arms. 


CHAPTER LIL 


THE CARRIAGE ON THE ROAD. 

Barely for a minute I rested there. I could not 
answer his questions, nor ask him any, for the sense 
of peril was still keen within me, and words that I 
had overheard that afternoon were vivid in my brain. 

Two that I can trust ... a carriage. ...” I had 
not reached safety yet. 

It was not till long afterwards that John told me 
how, having heard from his mother that she was 
uneasy about me, and having found on his arrival at 
Ardvalloch that Mrs. Brabrook was at Glamarnie, he 
had set out at once to see if anything were amiss ; 
never dreaming, as he said, of peril either so great 
or so imminent, or he would have come as fast as 
horses could bring him instead of walking, and with 
a band of rescuers instead of alone. At the time it 
did not strike me as strange that he should be there ; 
and the sense of peril, as I have said, of necessity for 
flight, blotted out all other considerations. 

“ John,” I said, “ let us get away from here ! 
There is danger.” 

But when I tried to move I could not stand. 

“ Oh,” I moaned, “ I have no more strength.” 

As I spoke a carriage came rapidly round the 
bend of the road from Ballarat; it was drawn by a 
pair of horses ; two men were on the box. We were 
322 


THE CARRIAGE ON THE ROAD. 


323 


standing in the shadow of a belt of trees, and I 
don’t know whether the men would have seen us 
if John had not hailed them. But as soon as he 
spoke the carriage drew up and one of the men dis- 
mounted. 

“ Are you going to Ardvalloch? ” asked John. 

“ Ay, ay. You’ll be the couple ” 

At this point the driver touched his fellow on 
the shoulder, and the two began a whispered con- 
ference. At the same time I pulled John by the 
sleeve. 

“ I believe,” I said, ‘‘ that this is the carriage 
that was to take Jesse and me ” — I could not help 
shuddering as I spoke, ” to — to wherever he meant 
to go.” 

” It shall take me instead,” he answered, “ as far, 
at least, as Ardvalloch.” 

” But you will be careful, for these men — they 
may be — Jesse — I am afraid.” 

The driver had got down from the box, and now 
came towards us. 

“ Ye’ll have the passport. I’m thinking,” he 
said. 

Quick as thought I held up the paper I had 
snatched from the table on my way out. “ Yes, here 
it is.” 

He was evidently suspicious. “ I must see it.” 

I handed it to him ; it was worth a risk, was 
the chance of being driven those wearisome miles. 
The man went over to a patch of moonlight, and 
inspected the paper, the other following him. They 
turned and twisted it about and presently came back, 
saying : “ It’s not filled out ; there’s only the leddy’s 
name to it.” 

John had not his mother’s stern clinging to the 


324 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

truth. “ There wasn’t time,” he answered, ‘‘ before 
we started. I’ll sign it at the journey’s end.” 

“ Na, na,” the driver persisted. “ Ye’ll sign it 
noo, or ye’ll no go in yon carriage to Ardval- 
loch.” 

“ What does it matter whether I sign it there or 
here?” 

“ We’ll run no risk of losing payment by taking 
the wrong pairties.” 

John took a pencil from his pocket, and in the 
moonlight, wrote his name below mine : then, putting 
his arm about me, held me, carried me almost, for 
I was nearly spent, to the carriage. 

“ And ye declare this woman is your wife,” said 
the man who had first spoken, with his hand upon 
the door. I felt John’s arm tremble, and I heard 
the tremor in his voice as he answered. 

I declare it.” 

‘‘ And ye’ll swear this man’s your husband ? ” 

“ He is my husband,” I murmured, and it was 
then I think that I fainted, for after that moment 
when I stood by the carriage door, recollection goes 
quite away and there comes a blank space. I don’t 
know that I fully recovered consciousness all through 
that drive, for the memory of it has always remained 
dim. I have a vague remembrance of driving on 
and on, knowing in a way that I was safe, and yet 
with the terror of Jesse, the horror of pursuit still 
strong upon me ; a confused recollection of the car- 
riage stopping (at a hovel about a quarter of a mile 
before coming to Ardvalloch I found it was after- 
wards), of seeing fresh horses led out, of hearing 
John remonstrate, of an altercation, of clamorous 
voices demanding payment, of the words, the 
wrong pairties,” of final calm and John getting in 


THE CARRIAGE ON THE ROAD. 


325 


again beside me and our driving on further till we 
came to the sparse lights of the little town and 
stopped at last before the inn. I have a dreamlike 
memory of being lifted out of the carriage, and 
carried in strong arms through misty space and laid 
upon a bed ; and then again comes the blank of un- 
consciousness, of a sleep in which there were not 
even dreams ; and I rested at last from the dread 
which had so long possessed me — the dread of Jesse 
Pimpernel. 

When I came to myself again, the first thing I 
saw was Beta’s face, and I started up, thinking it was 
surely time for her to set out on her night journey, 
or that she had been stopped or overtaken and 
brought back to the terrors of Glamarnie. But when 
she spoke to me and told me I was safe, I began to 
remember; and then I found that I was at the inn 
at Ardvalloch, with friends to protect me and loving 
hearts to soothe me, and a new safe life before me 
from which the dread was swept away for ever. 
Mrs. Brabrook was there, and John, and Captain 
Bobby and Beta; and there were letters from Mrs. 
Sullivan and every one of the boys; and Mrs. Pim- 
pernel was far, far away : and Jesse 

Ah, reader, that shriek of his rings in my ears 
as I write; the last sound he ever uttered. Never, 
never need I fear him any more ; though he comes 
to me still sometimes in dreams, never again need 
I fear the sound of his voice or shrink from the look 
upon his face ; for Jesse was dead, killed by the mys- 
terious man who for so long — as we found after- 
wards — had watched and followed him. In the evi- 
dence of this man’s trial it all came out; why so 
desperately Jesse had sought to rob me, why so 
recklessly he had planned to get possession of my 


326 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

fortune. In America he had joined a secret society, 
a society composed chiefly of Irish Americans, 
formed for the purpose of carrying out an organised 
system of assassination in Ireland ; and leading a 
wild life — a life which I saw written in his face, 
though I could not at the time interpret what was 
set forth there — he had smothered himself in debts ; 
debts which, having access to the funds of the so- 
ciety, he had at first partially, and finally, when com- 
plete ruin was imminent, to a large amount, defrayed 
from its coffers. It was the approaching inevitable 
discovery of this which had caused his sudden re- 
turn — or rather flight — to England ; and his knowl- 
edge that he would pay for his crime with his life 
was the key to his subsequent schemes. To the 
society he had been known under a false name, but 
to the chiefs of the society, knowing well from the 
conditions of membership that no change of name 
or place, that no disguise could save him from their 
vengeance, he had written, promising that if his life 
were spared, he would refund what he had stolen, 
with an additional three thousand pounds, making 
in all a total of ten thousand, within a given time. 
The time was up a month before my coming of age ; 
Mrs. Pimpernel had almost no money at her dis- 
posal, her income being derived from trust funds, the 
capital of which she could not touch ; I was no use 
as a wife until I came into my fortune ; and hence 
the desperate efforts to discover the whereabouts and 
get possession of the jewels. As the reader knows, 
the efforts were not successful, and through the 
mediation of Bracewell, one of the society’s agents, 
and the immediate payment of two thousand pounds 
which Mrs. Pimpernel by hook or by crook had 
somehow scraped together, a further period of grace 


THE CARRIAGE ON THE ROAD. 


327 


Avas granted. But all the time Jesse had been 
watched and followed ; and when, at the end of Sep- 
tember, the second period was up, and when, by 
my refusal to come to Glamarnie before October, a 
fortnight at least would have to elapse between the 
date set down for payment and the possibility of 
making that payment, he knew that if his where- 
abouts were discovered, death was inevitable. If 
before he were tracked he could make restitution, he 
felt that he might yet be safe ; but he could not force 
me into the Scotch marriage he had planned until 
we had both been three weeks in Scotland ; and dur- 
ing the time I was at Glamarnie, his presence in 
the house had been kept secret from everybody but 
his mother and Beta. Owing to Beta’s escape and 
the necessity, in consequence, of pushing forward 
by a day the arrangements he had made for his 
flight with me, he had not been able to avoid a meet- 
ing with Bracewell ; and Bracewell, who had first 
betrayed me to Mrs. Pimpernel, had finally, becom- 
ing doubtful as to the payment of Mrs. Pimpernel’s 
promised reward, betrayed Jesse to the man told off 
to track and finally to destroy him. So, at the last, 
I understood it all ; why he had so persecuted me ; 
why, marriage being the speedier as well as the safer 
way of getting possession of my money, he had 
preferred marriage to murder; and why he was 
obliged to withhold his name, until actually started 
on the journey, from the two men he had hired to 
convey us to the seaport town, where we were to have 
taken ship — whither I know not. It was close to 
this town that Mrs. Brabrook also had been taken, 
and, being set down within a few miles of it, had 
thus regained her liberty, but had lost all trace of 
Mrs. Pimpernel and Manningby. There and then 


328 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

they disappeared from her life and from mine; I 
have never seen or heard of either of them since. 
Bracewell I saw once many years after, sweeping a 
crossing in a crowded part of London. I hardly 
think he saw or knew me, but so great was the 
horror his face called up in me, that I jumped into 
the nearest hansom, and was driven straight home. 


CHAPTER LIII. 


CONCLUSION. 

Reader, I am John Brabrook’s wife. We were 
married indeed on that awful night of my flight 
from Glamarnie ; married by the signing of that con- 
tract in the moonlight, and the declaration that we 
were man and wife ; married after all those months of 
separation within ten minutes of our meeting again. 

I suppose that the law which makes such a 
marriage possible, would also have found a means of 
dissolving it, had we both or either of us wished it. 
But we did not wish it ; John’s heart, as I had always 
known, was on his mother’s side, and having once 
called me wife, he could not go back to the lonely 
life he had laid down for himself. And I? Well, 
I am always glad that I escaped being confronted 
with a problem, that the question of whether a man 
in John’s position ought or ought not to marry, was 
taken out of my hands. I can lay down no prin- 
ciples in the abstract; I can only say that if I had 
had to choose, I am sure I should have followed out 
his mother’s wish, and that I should have done so, 
not from her point of view, not — for it’s no use pre- 
tending — with any idea of showing my faith in the 
Almighty, but simply because I loved him. For I 
was young then, reader ; I had not considered prob- 
lems and principles and abstract questions of right 
and wrong, and my heart was stronger than my 

329 


22 


330 the strange story of HESTER WYNNE. 

philosophy. I know much more of the world now, 
and the sin in it, and the suffering and the sacrifice 

that is the payment for sin ; and still Well, all I 

can say is just what I said before, that I am very 
glad that the question was taken out of my hands; 
and I am still more glad, I must confess, that it was 
taken out of the hands of John. 

We went to Ireland after we were married, openly 
married in a London church, on the same day that 
Beta became Mrs. Robert Lockwood. 

“ Oh, Hester,” she said to me after the ceremony, 
“ to think that Fm married at last ! Aren’t you 
glad?” 

“ Not half so glad as I am to be married myself,” 
I answered laughing; and then, seeing the old look 
on her face, the look somewhat puzzled and just a 
little hurt, that I had so often brought there; and 
knowing very well what she had meant to say, and 
also what she wanted me to answer, I put my arms 
about her and kissed her, and : “ Dear,” I said, “ we 
have been through so much together and now we 
have both got all that our hearts desired. And half 
my happiness lies in the knowledge of yours, and 
half yours I know, lies in mine.” 

She kissed and clung to me, and paid me a char- 
acteristic compliment. 

‘‘ I’m sure,” she said, “ that Bob will like you so 
much.” 

The boys were waiting for us, came half way 
down the drive to meet us, in fact, with Ettie in a 
little tandem cart, drawn by two donkeys. 

“ And is it yerself. Ma’am,” they cried, “ with a 
husband all complate ? ” 

Yes, it’s me and him,” I answered, “ and we’re 
married quite properly at last.” 


CONCLUSION. 


331 


And then Horace in just his old way, came out 
with one of his old phrases: “Is that a fact?” he 
said. 

It was some days later, in the evening, as we all. 
sat round the peat fire in the billiard-room, that I 
told them the story of how we escaped from “ the 
robbers ” ; and great was their interest and sympathy 
and excitement, and many the things that they 
would have done had they been there ; and sweet it 
was to find myself in their midst again, safe and 
happy and cared for; and joyous were the pictures 
that I saw in the glowing peat that night. 

Well, it’s many years ago now; the boys are all 
married, and there are little “ boys ” — not all of one 
sex — who have most of them, some of their fathers’ 
ways. And I — well, the peat fire did not deceive 
me that night at Shivdallagh — I am very happy, 
sheltered and content in the love of the man I love. 
Neither has anxiety shadowed me ; my trust in John 
was well founded, the prophecy I made on that sad 
evening on the cliffs near Granbigh Hold, that time 
would add to his strength and weaken the thing he 
combated, has proved a true one; and, fortified by 
my trust in him and by the added confidence be- 
stowed by each passing year, he has lost the morbid 
fear which made the very consciousness of his in- 
heritance almost a temptation in itself. There is 
nothing more to be said: that night of my direst 
need, was also the night on which, for ever, the 
dread went out of my life, and since then nothing 
that the world would count interesting has befallen 
me : for a happy woman, like a prosperous country, 
has no history. 


THE END. 



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90. The Story of Philip Methuen. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

91. Amethyst. By C. R. Coleridge. 

92. Don Braulio. By J. Valera. 

Translated by C. Bell. 

93. The Chronicles of Mr. Bill Wil- 

liams. By R. M. Johnston. 

94. A Queen of Curds and Cream. By 

D. Gerard. 

95. “ La Bella " and Others. By E. 

C 

96. December Roses." By Mrs. Camp- 
bell- Praed. 

97. Jean de Kerdren. By J. Schultz. 

98. Etdka's Vow. By D. Gerard. 

99. Cross Currents. By M. A. Dickens. 

100. Kis Life's Magnet. By T. Elmslie. 

101. Passing the Love of Women. By 

Mrs. j. H. Needell. 

102. In Old St. Stephen's. By J. Drake. 

103. The Berkeleys and their Neighbors. 

By M. E. Seawell. 

104. Mona Maclean. Medical Student. 

By G. Travers. 

105. Mrs. Bligh. By R. Broughton. 

106. A Sturnble on the Threshold. By 

J. Payn. 

107. Hanging Moss. By P. Lindau. 

108. A Comedy of Elopement. By C. 

Reid. 

109. In the Suntime of her Youth. By 

B. Whitby. 

110. Stories in Black and White. By T. 

Hardy and Others. 
llOi. An Englishman in Paris. 

111. Commander Mendoza. By J. Va- 

XiGKA* 

112. Dr. Pa^dVs Theory, By Mrs. A. M. 

Diehl. 


113. Children of Destiny. By M. E. 

Seawell. 

114. A Little Minx. By A. Cambridge. 

115. Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon. By H. 

Caine. 

116. The Voice of a Flower. By E. 

Gerard. 

117. Singularly Deluded. ByS. Grand. 

118. Suspected. By L. Stratenus. 

119. Lucia. Hugh, and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

120. The Tutor's Secret. By V. Cher- 

buliez. 

121. From the Five Rivers. By Mrs, F. 

A. Steel. 

122. An Innocent Impostor, and Other 

Stories. By M. Gray. 

123. Ideala. By S. Grand. 

124. A Comedy of Masks. By E. Dow- 

soN and A. Moore. 

125. Relics. By F. MacNab. 

126. Dodo: A Detail of the Day. By 

E. F. Benson. 

127. A Woman of Forty. By E. Stuart. 

128. Diana Tempest. By M. Cholmon- 

DELEY. 

129. The Recipe for Diamonds. By C. 

J. C. Hyne. 

130. Christina Chard. By Mrs. Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

131. A Gray Eye or So. By F. F, 

Moore. 

132. Earlscourt. By A. Allardtce. 

133. A Marriage Ceremony. By A. 

Cambridge. 

134. A Ward in Chancery. By Mrs. 

Alexander. 

135. Lot 13. By D. Gerard. 

136. Otir Manifold Nature. By S. 

Grand. 

137. A Costly Freak. By M. Gray. 

138. A Beginner. By R. Broughton. 

139. A Yellow Aster. By Mrs. M. Caf- 

FYN (“ ToTA”). 

140. The Rubicon. By E. F. Benson. 

141. The Trespasser. By G. Parker. 

142. The Rich Miss Riddell. By D. 

Gerard. 

143. Mary Fenwick's Daughter. By B, 

Whitby. 

144. Red Diamonds. By J. McCarthy. 

145. A Daughter of Mu^c. By G. CoLr> 

MORE. 

146. Outlaw and Laxvmaker. By Mrs. 

Campbell- Praed. 

147. Dr. Janet of Harley Street. By A. 

Kenealy. 

148. George Mandeville's Husband. By 

C. E. Raimond. 

149. Vashti and Esther. 

150. Timar's Two Worlds. By M. 

JOKAI. 

151. A Victim of Good Luck. By W. E. 

Norris. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY lAB^KRY .-^Continued.) 


152. The Trail of the Sword. By G. 

Parkee. 

153. A Mild Barbarian. By E. Faw- 

cett. 

154. The God in the Car. By A. 

Hope. 

155. Children of Circumstance. By Mrs. 

M. Capptn. 

156. At the Gate of Samaria. By W. J. 

Locke. 

157. The Justification of Andrew Le- 

brun. By F. Bakrett. 

158. Bust and Laurels. By M. L. Pbn- 

DERED. 

159. The Good Ship Mohock. By W. C. 

Russell. 

160. Noemi. By S. Barpng-Qould. 

161. The Honour of SaveUi. By S. L. 

Yeats. 

162. Kitti/s Engagement. By F. War 

DEN. 

163. The Mermaid. By L. Dougall. 

164. An Arranged Marriage. By D. 

Gerard. 

165. Eve's Ransom. By G. Gissing. 

166. The Marriage of Esther. By G. 

Boothbt. 

167. Fidelis. By A. Cambridge. 

168. Into the Highways and Hedges. By 

F. F. Montr^sor. 

169. The Vengeance of James Vansittart. 

By Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

170. A Study in Prejudices. By G. 

Paston. 

171. The Mistress of Quest. By A. Ser- 

geant. 

172. In the Year of Jubilee. By G. Gis- 

sing. 

173. In Old New England. By H. 

Butterworth. 

174. Mrs. Musgrave— and Her Husband. 

By R. Marsh. 

175. Not Counting the Cost. By Tasma. 

176. Out of Due Season. By A. Ser- 

geant. 

177. Scylla or Charybdis? By R. 

Broughton. 

178. In Defiance of the King. By C. C. 

Hotchkiss'. 

179. A Bid for Fortune. By G. 

Boothbt. 

180. The King of Andaman. By J. M. 

Cobban. 

181. Mrs. Tregaskiss. By Mrs. Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

182. The Desire of the Moth. By C. 

Vane. 

183. A Self-Denying Ordinance. By M. 

Hamilton. 

184. Successors to the Title. By Mrs. L. 

B. Walford. 

185. The Lost Stradivarius. By J. M. 

Falkner. 

186. The Wrong Man. By D. Gerard. 


187. In the Day of Adversity. By J. 

Bloundelle-Burton. 

188. Mistress Dorothy Marvin. By J. C. 

Snaith. 

189. A Flash of Summer. By Mrs. W. 

Clifford 

190. The Dancer in Yellow. By W. E. 

Norris. 

191. The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt. 

By A. Morrison. 

192. A Winning Hazard. By Mrs. 

Alexander. 

193. The Picture of Las Cruces. By C. 

Reid. 

194. The Madonna of a Day. By li. 

Dougall. 

195. The Riddle Ring. By J. McCar- 

thy. 

196. A Humble Enterprise. By A. Cam- 

bridge. 

197. Dr. Nikola. By G. Boothbt. 

198. An Outcast of the Islands. By J. 

Conrad. 

199. The King's Revenge. By C. Brat. 

200. Denounced. By J. Bloundelle- 

Burton. 

201. A Court Intrigue. By B. Thomp- 

son. 

202. The Idol-Maker. By A. Sergeant. 

203. The Intriguers. By J. D. Barry. 

204. Master Ardick, Buccaneer. By F. 

H. Costello. 

205. With Fortune Made. By V. Cher- 

BULIEZ. 

206. Fellow Travellers. By G. Travers. 

207. McLeod of the Camerons. By M. 

Hamilton. 

208. The Career of Candida. By G. 

Paston. 

209. Arrested. By E. Stuart. 

210. Tatterley. By T. Gallon. 

211. A Pinchbeck Goddess. By Mrs. J 

M. Fleming (A. M. Kipling). 

212. Perfection City. By Mrs. Orpen. 

213. A Spotless Reputation. By B 

Gerard. 

214. A Galahad of the Creeks. By S. L. 

Yeats. 

215. The. Beautiful White Devil. By G. 

Boothbt. 

216. The Sun of Saratoga. By J. A. 

Altsheler. 

217. Fierceheart., the Soldier. By J. C. 

Snaith. 

218. Marietta's Marriage. By W. E. 

Norris. 

219. Dear Faustina. By R. Broughton. 

220. NUlma. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 

221. The Folly of Pen Harrington. By 

J. Sturgis. 

222. A Colonial Free-Lance. By C. C. 

Hotchkiss. 

223. His Majesty's Greatest Subject. By 

S. S. Thorburn. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY lAKRA.'RY.— {Continued.) 


224. Mifanwy : A Welsh Singer. By A. 

iIainb. 

225. A Soldier of Manhattan. By J. A. 

A T rpo 017»'T_U* o 

226. Fortune's Footballs. By G. B. 

Bukgin. 

227. The Clash of Arms. By J. Bloun- 

dei.lb-Burton. 

228. God's Foundling. By A. J. Daw- 

son. 

229. Miss Providence. By D. Gekabd. 

230. The Freedom of Henry Meredyth. 

By M. Hamilton. 

231. Sweethearts and Friends. By M. 

Gray. 

232. Sunset. By B. Whitby. 

233. A Fiery Ordeal. By Tasma. 

234. A Prince of Mischance. ByT. Gal- 

lon. 

235. A Passionate Pilgrim. By P. 

White. 

236. This Little World. By D. C. Mur- 

ray. 

237. A Forgotten Sin. By D. Gerard. 

238. The Incidental Bishop. By G. 

Allen. 

239. The Lake of Wine. By B. Capes. 

240. A Trooper of the Empress. By C. 

Ross. 

241. Torn Sails. By A. Rainb. 

242. Materfamilias. By A. Cambridge. 

243. John of Strathbourne. By R. D. 

Chetwode. 

244. The Millionaires. By F. F. Moore. 

245. The Looms of Time. By Mrs. H. 

Fraser. 

246. The Queen's Cup. By G. A. Henty. 

247. Dicky Monteith. By T. Gallon. 

248. The Lust of Hate. By G. Boothby. 


249. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Ar- 

thur Paterson. 

250. The Widower. By W. E. Norris. 

251. The Scourge of God. By J. 

Bloundelle-Burton. 

252. Concerning Isabel Carnaby. By 

Ellen Thorneycropt Fowler. 

253. The Impediment. By Dorothea 

Gerard. 

254. Belinda— and Some Others. By 

Ethel Maude. 

255. I he Key of the Holy House. By 

Albert Lee. 

256. A WHler of Books. By Georgb 

Paston. 

2.57. The Knight of the Golden Chain. 
By R. D. Chetwode. 

258. Ricroft of Withens. By IIalli- 

well Sutcliffe. 

259. The Procession of Life. By Hor- 

ace A. Vachell. 

260. By Berwen Banks. By Allen 

Raine. 

261. Pharos., the Egyptian. By Guy 

Boothby. 

262. Paul Carah, Cornishman. By 

Charles Lee. 

263. Pursued by the Law. By J. Mac- 

LAREN Cobban. 

264. Madame Izdn. By Mrs. Camp- 

bell- Praed. 

265. Fortune's my Foe. By J. Bloun- 

delle-Burton. 

266. A Cosmopolitan Comedy. By 

Anna Robeson Brown. 

267. The Kingdom of Hate. By T. 

Gallon. 

268. The Game and the Candle. By 

Rhoda Broughton. 

269. Dr. Kikola's Experiment. By 

Guy Boothby. 


“In their ‘ Town and Country Library,’ as it is known familiarly, the 
Messrs. Appleton have been remarkably successful both in preserving a 
good stanclurd and in the matter of popularity. Presumably this is one of 
the very few efforts of the kind whicn have been successful for more than a 
few months. And we think the secret of continued success lies in the dis- 
crimination used in selecting tales that are clean, pure, and withal of interest 
to the average reader’s intmligence ; and, furthermore, to the fact that the 
editors have been using American stories more and more frequently.” — 
New York Mail and Express. 

“ The percentage of excellence maintained throughout has been ex- 
traordinary. It is probably within bounds to say that no other list of legiti- 
mate fiction can show so many names of the first rank as judged by 
popularity. From time to time in this manner new and powerful pens are 
introduced .” — Rochester Herald. 


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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS. 


By CY WARMAN. 

OJVOIV ON THE HEADLIGHT. A Story of the 

Great Burlington Strike. i2mo. Cloth, -$1.25. 

In writing his new novel of railroad life, “ Snow on the Head- 
light,” Mr. Cy Warman has pictured the intimate and usually 
unknown phases of a great railroad strike. As a man who has 
worked upon railroads, and has known railroad officers and em- 
ployees in their daily life, Mr. Warman has already demonstrated 
the knowledge and broad sympathies which have aided him to 
become the foremost American writer of railroad stories. In 
this novel, which represents his strongest sustained effort, Mr. 
Warman’s keen perception, thorough understanding of the situa- 
tion, and his appreciation of dramatic effects have enabled him 
to present a picture of the acts and experiences of officials and 
of strikers which will be received with profound interest. It is a 
story which has not been told, and for the telling no one is better 
qualified than Mr. Warman. 


'J^HE STORY OF THE RAILROAD. 

Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ Far more interesting than the average novel. . . . Mr. 
Warman’s volume makes us feel and hear the rush of modern 
civilization. It gives us also the human side of the picture — the 
struggles of the frontiersman and his family, the dismay and cruel 
wrath of the retreating savage, the heroism of the advance guard 
of the railway builders, and the cutthroat struggles of competing 
lines. He does not deal greatly with statistics, but the figures he 
uses help make up the stunning effect of gigantic enterprise. 
There is not a dull page in the hook.”— New York Evening 
Post. 

“ Intensely interesting — a history which reads like a romance, 
and compared with whose marvelous story indeed most modern 
romances will seem spiritless and tame .” — Charleston News and 
Courier. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS, 


By FRANK T. BULLEN. 


TDYLLS of the sea. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“The ‘deep-sea wonder and mystery’ which Kipling found in Frank T. 
Bullen’s ‘ Cruise of the Cachalot ’ is appreciable again in this literary mate’s new book, 
‘ Idylls of the Sea.’ We feel ourselves tossed with him at the mercy of the weltering 
elements,” etc. — Philadelphia Record. 

“ Amplifies and intensifies the picture of the sea which Mr. Bullen had already pro- 
duced. . . . Calm, shipwreck, the surface and depths of the sea, the monsters of the 
deep, superstitions and tales of the sailors — all find a place in this stiange and exciting 
book.” — Chicago Times-Herald. 


“ Salty and genuine.” — Buffalo Express. 

“ His style is so strong, so vivid, so captivating, that the reader hails the volume as 
a new discovery in literature.” — Boston Tunes. 

“ A fresh sea-breeze blows through the whole book, and entertainment and instruc- 
tion are delightfully blended.” — London Daily Mail. 

“ Some of the brightest and most natural things ever written about the sea.” — 
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'J^HE CRUISE OF 7HE CACHALOT, Round the 

World after Sperm Whales. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

“ It is immense— there is no other word. I’ve never read anything that equals it 
in its deep-sea wonder and mystery, nor do I think that any book before has so com- 
pletely covered the whole business of whale fishing, and, at the same time, given such 
real and new sea pictures. I congratulate you most heartily. It’s a new world you’ve 
opened the door to.” — Rudyard Kipling. 

“ Written with racy freedom of literary expression and luxuriant abundance of inci- 
dent, so that ‘ The Cruise of the Cachalot ’ becomes a story of fascinating vividness 
which thrills the reader and amuses him. The volume is no less enthralling than ‘ Two 
Years Before the Mast,’ and higher praise can not be accorded to a story of the sea. 
... A book of such extraordinary merit as seldom comes to hand.” — Philadelphia 
Press. 

“ Mr. Bullen has given us an epic of whaling, and has presented it with that force- 
fulness and simplicity with which the epic is associated. . . . The book is of the sea. 
The author describes some tremendous scenes. . . . I'he book is real, authentic, a 
piece of life.” — London Academy. 

“ This exciting and attractive book. . . . A deep-sea wonder and mystery pervades 
every page, and this without any straining or self-conscious art. Mr. Bullen has in- 
sight, and he has power of presentation— the power of making things vivid and inter- 
esting. In a word, he has seen things worthy the telling, and he tells them worthily.” 
London Spectator. 


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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS. 


BOOKS BY GRAHAM TRAVERS. 


T/jy^I IVDYHA UGH. A Novel. By Graham Travers, 

^ ^ author of “ Mona Maclean, Medical Student,'’ “ Fellow Travel- 
lers,” etc. i2mo, cloth, $1.50. 

“ ‘ Windyhaugh ’ shows an infinitely more mature skill and more subtle humor than 
‘Mona Maclean ’ and a profounder insight into life. The psychology in Dr. Todd’s 
remarkable book is all of the right kind : and there is not in English fiction a more 
careful and penetrating analysis of the evolution of a woman’s mind than is given in 
Wilhelmina Galbraith; but ‘Windyhaugh’ is not a book in which there is only one 
‘ star ’ and a crowd of ‘supers.’ Every character is limned with a conscientious care 
that bespeaks the true artist, and the analytical interest of the novel is rigorously kept 
in its proper place and is only one element in a delightful story. It is a supremely 
interesting and wholesome book, and in an age when excellence of technique has 
reached a remarkable level, ‘ Windyhaugh ’ compels admiration for its brilliancy of 
style. Dr. 'I’odd paints on a large canvas, but she has a true sense of proportion.” — 
Blackwood' s Magazine. 

“ For truth to life, for jvdherence to a clear line of action, for arrival at the point to- 
ward which it has aimed from the first, such a book as ‘ VVindyhaugh ’ must be judged 
remarkable. There is vigor and brilliancy. It is a book that must be read from the 
beginning to the end and that it is a satisfaction to have read.” — Boston Journal. 

“ Its easy style, its natural characters, and its general tone of earnestness assure its 
author a high rank among contemporary novelists.” — Chicago Tribune. 

“We can cordially eulogize the spendid vitality of the work, its brilliancy, its pathos, 
its polished and crystalline style, and its remarkable character-painting. ” — New York 
Home Journal. 



ON A MACLEAN^ Medical Student. 

50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


i2mo, paper, 


“ A high-bred comedy.” — New York Times. 

“ ‘ Mona Maclean ’ is a bright, healthful, winning story.” — New York Mail and 
Express. 

“ Mona is a very attractive person, and her story is decidedly well told.” — San 
Francisco A rgonaut. 

“ A pleasure in store for you if you have not read this volume. The author has 
given us a thoroughly natural series of events, and drawn her characters like an artist. 
It is the story of a woman’s struggles with her own soul. She is a woman of resource, 
a strong woman, and her career is interesting from beginning to end.” — New York 
Herald. 



ELLOW TRAVELLERS. 

cloth, $1.00. 


i2mo, paper, 50 cents; 


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character drawing is to be particularly praised. . . . Altogether, the little book is a 
model of its kind, and its reading will give pleasure to people of —Boston 

Saturday Evening Gazette. 


“ ‘ Fellow Travellers’ is a collection of very brightly written tales, all dealing, as 
the title implies, with t^e mutual relations of people thrown together casually while 
traveling.” — London Saturday Review. 


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"HE MORMOH PROPHET. i2mo. Cloth, 



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“ In ‘ The Mormon Prophet ’ Miss Lily Dougall has told, in strongly dramatic 
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Saints, which has again come prominently before the public through the election of a 
polygamist to Congress. . . Miss Dougall has handled her subject with consummate 
skill. . . . She has rightly seen that this man’s life contained splendid material for a 
historical novel. She has taken no unwarranted liberties with the truth, and has suc- 
ceeded in furnishing a story whose scope broadens with each succeeding chapter until 
the end.” — Hezo York Mail and Express. 

“ Mormonism is not ordinarily regarded as capable of romantic treatment, but in 
the hands of Miss Dougall it has yielded results which are calculated to attract the 
general public as well as the student of psychology. . . . Miss Dougall has handled a 
difficult theme with conspicuous delicacy: the most sordid details of the narrative are 
redeemed by the glamour of her style, her analysis of the strangely mixed character of 
the prophet is remarkable for its detachment and impartiality, while in Susannah Halsey 
she has given us a really beautiful study of nobly compassionate womanhood. We cer- 
tainly know of no more illuminative commentary on the rise of this extraordinary sect 
than is furnished by Miss Dougall’s novel ” —London Spectator. 

“ Miss Dougall may be congratulated both on her choice of a subject for her new 
book and on her remarkably able and interesting treatment of it. ... A fascinating 
story, winch is even more remarkable and more fascinating as a psychological study. ” — 
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By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER. 

DOUBLE THREAD. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

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and the result is thoroughly pleasing.” — Claudius Clear ^ in the British 
Weekly. 

“ An excellent novel in every sense of the word, and Miss Ellen Thorney 
croft Fowler is to be congratulated on having made a most distinct and 
momentous advance.” — London Telegraph. 

“ We have learned to expect good things from the writer of ‘ Concerning 
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ONCERNING ISABEL CARNABY. 

Appletons’ Town and Country Library. i2mo. 


No. 252, 

Cloth, $1.00 ; 


paper, 50 cents. 


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limned, and they are created by one who knows human nature. ... It 
would be hard to find its superior for all-around excellence. . . . No one 
who reads it will regret it or forget it.” — Chicago Tribune. 

“ For brilliant conversations, epigrammatic bits of philosophy, keenness 
of wit, and full insight into human nature, ‘ Concerning Isabel Carnaby ’ is 
a remarkable success.” — Boston Transcript. 

“ An excellent novel, clever and witty enough to be very amusing, and 
serious enough to provide much food for ihonght." — London Daily Tele- 
graph. 


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TWO SUCCESSFUL AMERICAN NOVELS. 



ATITUDE A Romance of the West Indies in 

the Year of our Lord 1820. Being a faithful account and true, 
of the painful adventures of the Skipper, the Bo’s’n, the Smith, 
the Mate, and Cynthia. By Mrs. Schuyler Cro^vninshield. 
Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


“ ‘ Latitude 19° ’ is a novel of incident, of the open air, of the sea, the shore, the 
moantain eyrie, and of breathing, living entities, who deal with N atuie at first hand. . . . 
The adventures described are peculiarly novel and interesting. . . . Packed with 
incidents, infused with humor and wit, and faithful to the types introduced, this book 
will surely appeal to the large audience already won, and beget new friends among 
those who believe in fiction that is healthy without being maudlin, and is strong with- 
out losing the truth.” — New York Herald. 

“ A story filled with rapid and exciting action from the first page to the last. A 
fecundity of invention that never lags, and a judiciously used vein of humor.” — The 
Critic. 

“ A volume of deep, undeniable charm. A unique book from a fresh, sure, vigorous 
pen.” — Boston Journal. 

“ Adventurous and romantic enough to satisfy the most exacting reader. . . . 
Abounds in situations which make the blood run cold, and yet, full of surprises as it is, 
one is continually amazed by the plausibility of the main incidents of the narrative. 
. . . A very successful effort to portray the sort of adventures that might have taken 
place in the West Indies seventy five or eighty years ago. . . . Very entertaining witli 
Its dry humor.” — Boston Herald. 



H ER ALD OF THE WEST. An American 

« 

Story of 1811-1815. By J. A. Altsheler, author of “A 
Soldier of Manhattan ” and “ The Sun of Saratoga.” i2mo. 
Cloth, $1.50. 


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flush of war has only just passed, the book ought to find thousands of readers, for it 
teaches patriotism without intolerance, and it shows, what the war with Spain has 
demonstrated anew, the power of the American "oeople when they are deeply roused by 
some great wrong.” — San Francisco Chronicle. 

“ The book throughout is extremely well written. It is condensed, vivid, pictu- 
resque. ... A rattling good story, and unrivaled In fiction for its presentation of the 
American'feeling toward England during our second conflict.” — Boston Herald. 

“ Holds the attention continuously. . . . The book abounds in thrilling attractions. 
... It is a solid and dignified acquisition to the romantic literature of our own coun- 
try, built around facts and real persons.” — Chicago Times- Herald. 

“ In a style that is strong and broad, the author of this timely novel takes up a 
nascent period of our national history and founds upon it a story of absorbing interest.” 
— Philadelphia Item. 

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STEPHEN CRANE’S BOOKS. 

third violet. i2mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 

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firmed that, for psychological insight, for dramatic intensity, and for the potency of 
phrase, he is already in the front rank of English and American writers of fiction, 
and that he possesses a certain separate quality which places him apart. ” — London 
Academy. 

“The whole book, from beginning to end, fairly bristles with fun. . . . It is adapted 
for pure entertainment, yet it is not easily put down or forgotten.” — Boston Herald. 


'J^HE LITTLE REGIMENT, and Other Episodes 

of the American Civil War. i 2 mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 


“ In ‘ The Little Regiment ' we have again studies of the volunteers waiting impa- 
tiently to fight and fighting, and the impression of the contest as a private soldier hears, 
sees, and feels it, is really wonderful. The reader has no privileges. He must, it seems, 
take his place in the ranks, and stand In the mud, wade in the river, fight, yell, swear, 
and sweat with the men. He has some sort of feeling, when it is all over, that he has 
been doing just these things. This sort of writing needs no praise. It will make its 
way to the hearts of men without praise.” — Neiv York Times. 

“Told with a verve ecisd brings a whiff of burning powder to one’s nostrils. . . . 
In some way he blazons the scene before our eyes, and makes us feel the very impetus 
of bloody war.” — Chicago Evening Post. 



AGGIE: A GIRL 

i2mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 


OF THE 


STREETS. 


“ By writing ‘ Maggie ’ Mr. Crane has made for himself a permanent place in lit- 
erature. . . . Zola himself scarcely has surpassed its tremendous portrayal of throb- 
bing, breathing, moving life.” — New York Mail and Express. 

“ Mr. Crane’s story should be read for the fidelity with which It portrays a life 
that is potent on this island, along with the best of us. It is a powerful portrayal, and, 
if somber and repellent, none the less true, none the less freighted with appeal to those 
who are able to assist in righting wrongs.” — New York Times. 


T 


HE RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Episode 

of the American Civil War. i 2 mo. Cloth, $i.oo. 


“ Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well depicted. . . . 
The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all aglow with color, movement, 
and vim. The style is as keen and bright as a sword-blade, and a Kipling has done 
nothing better in this line.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

“ There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it. . . . Mr. Crane has 
added to American literature something that has never been done before, and that is, 
in its own peculiar way, inimitable.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ A truer and completer picture of war than either Tolstoy or Zola.” — London Nett 
Review. 


New York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS. 


BOOK THAT WILL LI VET 



AVID HARUM, A Story of American Life. 

Edward Noyes Westcott. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


By 


“Mr. Westcott has done for central New York what Mr. Cable, Mr. Page, and 
Mr. Harris have done for different parts of the South, and what Miss Jewett and Miss 
Wilkins are doing for New England, and Mr. Hamlin Garland for the West. . . . 
‘David Harum’ is a masterly delineation of an American type. . . . Here is life with 
all its joys and sorrows. . . . David Harum lives in these pages as he will live in the 
m.nd of the reader. . . . He deserves to be known by all good Americans ; he is one 
of them in boundless energy, in large-hearted ness, in shrewdness, and in humor.” — 
The Critic. 

“ Thoroughly a pure, original, and fresh American type. David Harum is a 
character whose qualities of mind and heart, eccentricities, and dry humor will win for 
his creator notable distinction. Buoyancy, life, and cheerfulness are dominant notes. 
In its vividness and force the story is a strong, fresh picture of American life. Original 
and true, it is worth the same distinction which is accorded the genre pictures of 
pjculiar types and places sketched by Mr. George W. Cable, Mr. Joel Chandler 
Harris, Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, Miss Wilkins, Miss Jewett, Mr. Garland, Miss 
French, Miss Murfree, Mr. Gilbert Parker, Mr. Owen Wister, and Bret Harte. . . . 
A pretty love story also adds to the attractiveness of the book, that will be appreciated 
at once by every one who enjoys real humor, strong character, true pictures of life, and 
work that is ‘ racy of the soil.’ ” — Boston Herald. 

“ Mr. Westcott has created a new and interesting type. . . . The character sketch- 
ing and building, so far as David Harum is concerned, is well-nigh perfect. 1 he book 
is wonderfully bright, readable, and graphic.” — Hew York Times. 

“'1 he main character ought to become familiar to thousands of readers, and will 

? robably take his place in time beside Joel Chandler Harris's and Thomas Nelson 
age’s and Miss Wilkins’s creations.” — Chicago Times-Herald. 

“ We give Edward Noyes Westcott his true place in American letters— placing 
him as a humorist next to Mark Twain, as a master of dialect above Lowell, as a 
descriptive writer equal to Bret Harte, and, on the - hole, as a novelist on a par with 
the best of those who live and have their being in the heart of hearts of American 
readers. If the author is dead— lamentable fact — his book will live.” — Philadelphia 
Item. 

“ True, strong, and thoroughly alive, with a humor like that of Abraham Lincoln 
and a nature as sweet at the core. The spirit of the book is genial and wholesome, and 
the love story is in keeping with it. . . . The book adds one more to the interesting 
list of native fiction destined to live, portraying certain localities and types of American 
life and iminneTS.’' — Boston Literary World. 

“ A notable contribution to those sectional studies of American life by which our 
literature has been so greatly enriched in the past generation. ... A work of unusual 
merit.” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ One of the few distinct and living tj'pes in the American gallery.” — St. Louis 
Globe- Democrat. 

“ The quaint character of ‘David Harum’ proves to be an inexhaustible source of 
amusement. — Chicago Evening Post. 

“ It would be hard to say wherein the author could have bettered the portrait he 
sets before ns." —Providence yournal. 

“ Full of wit and sweetness.” — Baltimore Herald. 

“ Merits the heartiest and most unequivocal praise. . . . It is a pleasure to call the 
reader’s attention to this strong and most original novel, a novel that is a decided and 
most enduring addition to American literature.” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette, 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. NEW YORK, 






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